


Love, Peace, Fate, and Other Things We Don't Believe In

by Teharissa



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 'mild' tag, Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Fae & Fairies, Fae Magic, Falling In Love, Fantasy, Gen, Grief/Mourning, I didn't intially mean to include that theme at all, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Injury, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mild Alcohol Withdrawal, Oneshot turned monster, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Sorry Not Sorry, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Strangers to Lovers, Travelling together, Violence, War, Yeah i didnt edit this, and so i put the, so thats why it's not entirely accurate, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:14:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21637198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teharissa/pseuds/Teharissa
Summary: They deserved a burial if nothing else. Matthias stepped closer, soon enough kneeling beside them both. At least they looked peaceful, in death. If nothing else, that was a blessing. He took a moment, reaching a hand out to slowly adjust the younger boy, touching the cold and bruised shoulder gently.All too quickly, there was a grip on his wrist, and Matthias startled. The man, weak as he was, his eyes barely open and unseeing, held onto Matthias's wrist. He was alive. Alive, and—breathing. It was so shallow, and he’d been so still before that Matthias hadn’t seen. Unsure of what to do, he floundered for a moment.“Don’t touch him,” the man’s voice was weak, and stricken with emotion, “Get your hand off my brother.”Brothers.Matthias looked down at the young one, and his heart hurt doubly. He nodded though, as refusal wasn’t an option, and pulled his hand back.On a lonely mountain, Matthias finds a man gravely injured. Their journey begins here.
Relationships: Denmark/Norway, Iceland & Norway (Hetalia), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 38





	Love, Peace, Fate, and Other Things We Don't Believe In

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Hetalia. Be warned, there are some rarepairs that I put in because they fit with the character roles, and I got carried away. All of them are minor though, so don't stress too much if you find a ship you don't like.

There was a stench in the air—sweet, in an acrid sort of way. Matthias didn’t need to guess what it was, he’d long since learned from experience. It was, in simple terms, the smell of death. It prevailed over all else, and in such snowy weather, it made a stark contrast to the glow of the night. Battle was usually like so—beautiful, even in its repulsiveness. And Matthias wished desperately that he didn’t know that so well. But this wasn’t a battle, and the scent felt so wrong among what should have been such a peaceful scene. 

Matthias should not have come upon death tonight.

His gaze fastened upon the source of such a smell, the source of his growing unease, and he himself felt his stomach lurch. He’d always been able to keep a straight face under such a situation, but now, he couldn’t help the way nausea rose. This was different. It wasn’t soldiers, sent out in a bloody battle, murderers even if justified by law. Matthias himself was one of those, once. He was a murderer with stained blood. This wasn’t necessary—it was simply a violence too disgusting to be inflicted on innocents. Death should not be here.

Two bodies. They shared the same face, the same pretty features, but one was young, way too young for their life to be ended this way, so soon. The other curled around him protectively, as if even in death, he’d keep him safe. The snow around them glittered with a deep and dried red, a color so heavy in the face of the whiteness it situated itself in. The younger of the two stared vacantly towards the sky, eyes dull without the spark of life. But the violence inflicted on his small body—Matthias could see the bruises and whip marks of someone who’d been beaten heavily before his death, he could see the trail of blood that had dried from his lips, he could see the way his limbs bent unnaturally, and his chest had been torn open.

Whoever had done such a thing was a monster.

The body beside him seemed in slightly better shape—Matthias, granted, couldn’t see much of it, but it wasn’t quite as torn up. A knife, still lodged through his abdomen was the most glaring detail, though it was old and rusted. More obviously, it seemed the most extent of the damage was upon his arms—bruised and broken. Matthias could feel bile in his throat simply at the realization that, most likely, whoever had done this had held the older man back while they’d torn apart the younger.

They deserved a burial if nothing else. Matthias stepped closer, soon enough kneeling beside them both. At least they looked peaceful, in death. If nothing else, that was a blessing. He took a moment, reaching a hand out to slowly adjust the younger boy, touching the cold and bruised shoulder gently.

All too quickly, there was a grip on his wrist, and Matthias startled. The man, weak as he was, his eyes barely open and unseeing, held onto Matthias's wrist. He was alive. Alive, and—breathing. It was so shallow, and he’d been so still before that Matthias hadn’t seen. Unsure of what to do, he floundered for a moment.

“Don’t touch him,” the man’s voice was weak, and stricken with emotion, “Get your hand off my brother.”

Brothers.

Matthias looked down at the young one, and his heart hurt doubly. He nodded though, as refusal wasn’t an option, and pulled his hand back.

“Alright,” he said, calmly. Hopefully, his words could help placate him. “I won’t.”

The man relaxed at the words, his eyes fluttering back closed and he fell back to the ground. He was shaking—whether from the cold, the grief, the wounds, Matthias didn’t know. The only thing that was for sure—he couldn’t leave him here.

He made quick work, unclasping his cloak and throwing it over the man—the cold didn’t matter to Matthias, not when this other man needed it so much more. The man’s eyes burst open again, not open enough, and he opened his mouth to speak.

“You’re injured and will die of cold,” Matthias said first, quick to inform, “You need help. Are you okay being carried?”

The man frowned.

“No, I need to stay with Emil...please…”

Did he even know Emil was dead? It seemed obvious, with the bloodied organs and bone visible through his decimated chest. Maybe he was in denial. Though, Matthias knew that he himself wouldn’t want to leave the body of those close to him behind, even if he had, in fact, processed their death. He bit his lip.

“I can’t let you stay here. And I can’t carry you both,” Matthias said, “You’ll die.”

The man’s expression didn’t change. It was still vacant and firm, at the same time, in an odd paradox. 

“I will not leave him.”

A faint breeze picked up around them, ruffling the sleeves of Matthias shirt and making the man shiver even harder, despite being beneath Matthias's cloak. He looked too weak, and it was clear that within hours, maybe less, he’d be dead if not attended.

Matthias would not let him die on his watch. He refused. He’d seen far too much death in his lifetime, and that was of people trained for it. He would not let this man die either.

“There’s an inn, not far from here,” Matthias said, cautiously, “I’ve walked this path many times, it’s not too far. I’m going to take you there. Then, I’ll come back for him. He deserves a burial, and I know you won’t leave him. So I promise you, it’ll only be temporary.”

He made sure to leave out the fact the beast that roamed these forests, or the cannibals that had grown in number within the kingdom, or even rogue thieves desperate for supplies or food could ravage the body, steal it for their own purposes, but he knew that the information would deliver more harm than good. And likely, if this man were in any state of mind capable of thought, he’d know that. Maybe even now he recognized the possibility. 

“I,” the man started, though his eyes began to flutter again, and he shivered helplessly, “I can’t—leave—”

He was getting worse by the moment. There was still a knife embedded within his abdomen—luckily still there to stop the blood flow, but rusty and old. Matthias was willing to bet the wound was infected. And his arms—Matthias was amazed that the man had even found the strength or ability to grab him when he’d first realized he was alive. The force of will, the pain, and the sheer injury on them made it seem like it would have been hardly possible.

“Look,” Matthias said, after a moment, “I know you don’t want to, but you don’t have a choice. I’m not leaving you, and I promise I’ll come back.”

He didn’t wait for a response before bending down to pick the man up—he handled him with care and tenderness, though the man was surprisingly heavy in his arms. For his frame had seemed so slight, Matthias only stumbled slightly, before regaining some semblance of balance. It wasn’t that the man was incredibly heavy, only that it was more than he expected, and thus he hadn’t been prepared for it. The man’s eyes flashed with something, some emotion Matthias couldn’t read, and then he struggled, albeit weakly and uselessly.

“No, I need—”

“Stop. You’re hurting yourself.” Matthias adjusted both the man and the cloak in his arms, “It’ll be a quick journey, but I’d recommend you’d conserve your energy. The goal is for you to live.”

The man did stop struggling, though Matthias doubted it was because of his words, and more from the sheer hopelessness of it all. He closed his eyes, hung his head back, and after a moment, he opened his mouth again to whisper in the most broken voice Matthias had ever heard—“Emil.”

He’d never thought of how deeply one simple word, for two brothers he didn’t know, could hurt so much.

* * *

The inn had always been a quaint little place—nestled between the snow and trees, clinging to the side of the mountain as if it were a spider perching on its web. It was small, only four rooms for guests, and one for the keepers of the establishment. Coming upon it, at such a time, with the man cradled in his arms and his breathing shallow, Matthias couldn’t help but feel a sense of great relief that they’d made it.

Matthias didn’t take a moment longer than he had to in entering the building. He’d been coming here for years and had come to be quite acquainted with the owners, so as he entered he made immediate eye contact with Arthur (who’d been previously lazing behind the counter, on the off chance that someone might enter).

“Help him,” was all he could manage to say, for he was out of breath from making across the mountain in such weather and at such a pace, and Arthur’s face loosened from the shock.

“Bloody hell,” he said, “What did you do?”

“Nothing, I just—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Arthur shook his head and immediately found his way to Matthias, “Take him to the second room on the left. It’s empty. I’ll get Yao.”

Arthur was gone all too quickly—wiping his hands down the front of his dirty apron, and climbing the stairs to the loft bedroom Yao was sure to be in. Matthias didn’t even have time to affirm, though it wasn’t necessary, and Matthias made sure to make it to the room and set the man down on the bed. He was pale—far too pale, worse than when Matthias had first seen him, and despite the flushness of his skin, he burned to touch. Fever.

“Please be okay,” Matthias said, for he did not wish to see any more death in this world, and he set about removing the knife—having left the old, rusted thing within the man’s body so he wouldn’t bleed out. It hadn’t been ideal, but now that he was here, with Yao coming, Matthias took the hilt gingerly and began to pull it out. It left glittering with his blood.

Yao arrived as Matthias pressed on the chest wound, trying not to pay mind to the little, unconscious gasps of pain the man made in his sleep, trying to remind himself that he was saving this man’s life, trying to remind himself that with Yao here—hopefully—the man would live.

“Move aside,” Yao said impatiently, setting a bag of supplies on the floor by the bedside, and immediately working to remove the man’s shirt. He didn’t look at Matthias, not even once, simply setting to work in a quiet and busy fashion. The wound looked even worse when the shirt was removed—and so did the bruises on his arms. He looked as Matthias had found him—every bit a fresh corpse, aside from the slight way his ribs moved beneath his breaths. And the wound itself—a grisly, grotesque thing. It was layered with a sheen of discharge and green pus, infected, and gaping within his side. Matthias couldn’t bear to look any longer while Yao worked, and he turned to leave the room.

Arthur was leaning on the wall outside the room, arms crossed, and lips pulled taut with worry. Matthias came to rest beside him, letting out the shuddery breath he’d been holding, and pulling a hand through his hair.

“I suggest you explain,” Arthur said, “I’d like to know why we have to handle a nearly dead man, now.”

Arthur was concerned—he didn’t always look it, but he cared. His brow was furrowed, and he rested a hand on Matthias's arm in worry.

“I found him,” Matthias tried to stop himself from shaking, “I found him and his...his brother...on my way to the capital. The brother was dead. I swear I didn’t have anything to do with it, Arthur.”

Arthur nodded, worrying at his lip for a moment. 

“I see,” he said, “I’ll properly warn you, he might not make it. Yao may be among the best medics gracing this kingdom, but your friend looks pretty bad.”

Matthias could feel himself deflate, and Arthur’s gaze softened. He knew it though—he knew from the moment that the pale man had gripped his wrist and proved his fleeting life, he’d known as he’d arrived, he’d known for every instant that he’d been within the man’s presence.

It didn’t stop the heavy grief of death.

“Don’t worry, old chap,” Arthur smiled, though it was strained and forced, “You look like you need a drink. Vodka?”

“Yes please,” Matthias relented to Arthur’s pull, letting him sit him down at one of the small tables that decorated the main room of the inn, and then he moved in search of a bottle. The inn was made of wood and stones, cobbled together, but it came together to feel much like home. It was almost entirely empty, though Matthias was willing to bet one of the other rooms housed some poor merchant or adventurer who had been in need of shelter on the cold mountain top.

“It’s just,” Matthias wiped a hand over his face in stress, as Arthur set the bottle in front of him and sat across the seat, clutching his own whiskey, “Bad memories I guess. I don’t want to see anyone else die.”

Arthur nodded solemnly.

“With your past, it’d be bloody odd if you didn’t,” Arthur said, “I’m not sure that it warrants you bringing a half-dead man to my establishment, but whatever. Semantics.”

Matthias stifled a snort, hoping the vodka would take away the emptiness of his heart. “I guess that’s true. Sorry. I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“We’re friends, don’t apologize,” Arthur tilted his head inquisitively, “And I quite understand that. But honestly, right now, I’m more concerned with you. You can tell me anything you want, you know that.”

Matthias wasn’t quite sure how much truth there was to those words—Arthur was a friend sure, but he didn’t feel the need to burden him. Arthur had his own issues, his own problems to sort out. And Matthias—his troubled past was best left untouched.

“I know,” Matthias said instead, letting the words dance lightly. He tipped the bottle of vodka back and hoped the alcohol would have some effect soon. “How is Leon?”

Arthur didn’t miss a beat in replying, though the way his lips tightened displayed that the subject change had not gone unnoticed. And so they talked about menial matters—the weather, the war, the more trivial aspects of their own lives. They danced about subjects that both would rather avoid, and Matthias tried not to notice how time dragged on without Yao leaving the room.

The alcohol dulled his senses and his mind, and it wore away at his hollow soul. It made things seem lighter, albeit, without erasing the darkness that still remained in his mind.

Sometime later—as Arthur and Matthias laughed dimly at some old worn joke Matthias had heard in the southern colonies—Yao left the room. He held his hands in front of him, both clasped around each other and stained with blood. He looked visibly exhausted, almost on the verge of collapse.

“Matthias. Arthur,” Yao said, wearily, “He’s alive. Barely. I don’t know if he’ll make it. I’ll check on him again tomorrow, and you—Matthias—please don’t bother him. He needs to get as much rest as possible. As do I.”

It was as much of a good night Yao would provide, as he retreated up the stairs to his loft, rubbing his scalp with a bloodied hand. Arthur watched him go, instinctively, before turning back to Matthias.

“I’m going to make sure Yao doesn’t fall asleep without at least cleaning himself off first,” Arthur rolled his eyes, “And I’ll send Leon to fetch the body.”

Leon, the stableboy, and a youngling of about fifteen. He had dark hair and eyes, and a small nose that wasn’t too common among those of kingdom, an appearance he shared with Yao. Matthias had never known Leon’s connection to either of them—he wasn’t paid, but he was still allowed the fifth guest room at all times, so much so that it ceased to exist as a guest room and simply became his own. Matthias had never bothered to ask, and still, he didn’t, merely inclining his head.

“Thank you. I can go with him, to show him.”

“Leon knows these mountains well enough,” Arthur said, “He’ll be fine.”

Matthias shook his head. “I’ll go. It’s not for his benefit, but for my own.”

He needed to do this. He needed to bring Emil back to his brother, for some reason he wasn’t quite sure. Closure? Hardly. He didn’t know Emil, only knowing the boy’s name from the man’s uttered words back within the danger of the oppressive forest. It was something else. Guilt, maybe.

Arthur nodded, relenting, and Matthias was left on his own, lost in his own thoughts. Thoughts and memories, memories he couldn’t bear. He stood—glancing over his shoulder, debating whether or not he should check on the injured man. Eventually, he decided against it. He would not disrupt his sleep, not disrupt his healing. If he had to pay for an extra room, so be it, but he would not hinder his health.

Matthias had spent the last hours dressed in his cloak and heavy boots, so he didn’t bother to even change (only grabbing his ax from where he left it by the door—a weapon both large and deadly, an inherent danger in the wicked edges of it) on his way out. The cold hit him suddenly, but it was of no matter, and he trudged his way over to the stable where a certain boy could be seen tending to the horses.

“Leon,” he called, “Arthur wants you to help me retrieve something.”

Leon didn’t respond immediately, not even bothering to glance at him. He was an odd boy—in more than just his appearance, for his demeanor was the ungodly combination of Yao’s arrogance and Arthur’s brashness. 

“What is it?” Leon eventually asked, informally. He was brushing a horse’s long coat, a horse sturdy, and bread for such climates. Matthias faltered for an answer—could he simply say the poor young boy who deserved so much more? A brother? A life stolen?

“A body,” he eventually ventured, “So get the wagon.”

Leon once again didn’t respond immediately, not even bothering with an actual outward reaction. He simply continued to brush the mare, treating her well, before finally looking Matthias straight in the eye.

“So that’s why you brought a man in,” Leon said, “Alright. Give me a few minutes. Don’t go anywhere.”

Leon was a strange one, but he did his job well, so Matthias obeyed his words and waited quietly.

* * *

Seeing Emil again, lying in the snow curled like a winter fox, felt almost like a dream. Matthias didn’t let Leon help him, not even as he picked up the small boy and gathered him into the wagon. Leon remained quiet, somber, as they drove back to the inn.

* * *

Days passed. Matthias meant to bury the body, but couldn’t find the energy to. His patience wore thin, and so did his curiosity. By the second day, he slept on the floor of he and the man’s shared quarters and watched over him constantly by day. His journey to the capital ceased to matter in the face of keeping his stranger—a complete and utter stranger whom he should hardly care less about—alive.

He changed bandages and dressed wounds according to Yao’s direction, he kept a watchful eye on the pale man, and he tried to ignore the aching of his joints in need for sleep on a bed of some sort.

The first time the man awoke, his fever was still high. It was on the third day—a fact Matthias distinctly remembered. His eyes opened blearily, and they stared unfocused at the ceiling. Matthias had risen, about to say something, only for the words to die on his tongue.

“Emil, the light’s too bright,” the man slurred, before fading into unconsciousness again.

The second time the man awoke, it once again was only for a passing moment, and it was later the same day—though this time he did not speak, and Matthias hardly had noticed him awake at all.

Yao checked more frequently on his patient, each time trying to explain to Matthias what each herb and medicine did, and only getting frustrated when Matthias couldn’t remember. Arthur had left for a few days, to restock their supplies from a nearby city at the base of the mountain, and Yao’s mood only seemed to decrease as Arthur left, until soon enough Matthias found himself avoiding him.

Matthias found himself alone, most times, as a result. Either that or clinging to the man’s bedside, waiting for a time where he could wake up, fully awake and comprehending. He tended to the fever in a desperate hope that maybe, perhaps, he’d wake sooner if Matthias had done that much.

He eventually did. 

Matthias was laying in a wooden chair he’d dragged from the main room, and his legs were perched up alongside the rest of his body on it. His head rested on the backing, and in boredom, his eyes traced the lines in the ceiling.

“Who are you?”

Matthias would deny he startled at the voice, though he did whip his head around—almost expecting to see the man still asleep, eyes closed and breaths merely gentle wisps between his teeth. He did not see such a sight, and it took him a moment to quite process the tired purple eyes looking at him, not clouded over with confusion, but coherently and most definitely _there_.

He inhaled sharply, before responding.

“Matthias. Matthias Køhler. And you?”

For some reason, the question held a momentous weight. This man, whom Matthias had watched day in and day out, hoping for any sign of health, had been given no name. Not even in his head had Matthias called him anything but ‘the man’, and to finally have one—Matthias wasn’t sure how he felt.

The man blinked.

“Lukas,” he said quietly. “Bondevik.”

Lukas. He looked like a Lukas—soft face and eyes that glimmered with some silent understanding. Not enough, though. He glanced around himself, eventually, and Matthias could almost see the thoughts spinning in his head—the realizations, the questions, the connections.

“I brought you here,” he said, more out of need to do something than to alleviate Lukas of his unspoken questions. That he dreaded most intensely. “Do you remember anything?”

Lukas looked at him again, though his lips pulled into a thin line.

“I remember enough,” he took a shuddery breath, “Emil is dead, isn’t he? It wasn’t just some horrible, horrible dream?”

Matthias wished he could say otherwise. Silently, he shook his head. Lukas seemed to break in that moment, looking away so that Matthias couldn’t see his face. 

“I see,” Lukas said, and this time, Matthias could hear it crack, could hear the stutter in it and the grief, “I’d like to be alone.”

He was crying. It was obvious on the last word, when there was this muffled sort of sob that Matthias hadn’t been meant to hear. It was obvious in the slight shake of his shoulders. 

He didn’t comment on it, as much as it pained him.

“I understand,” Matthias rose quietly from his seat, trying to overcome the lump in his throat, “I’ll be out here if you need me. But remember, you’re injured so...be careful, I guess.”

He didn’t know what to say. Lukas didn’t respond, and Matthias didn’t expect him to, not now, not when his world had just crumbled and fallen apart. Matthias shut the door, releasing the breath he’d been holding, and immediately found Leon—who was tending the counter in Arthur’s stead.

“Give me the strongest stuff you have,” Matthias said, “Or that Arthur has, or whatever. Just give it to me.”

Leon raised an eyebrow.

“It’ll cost.”

“Just give me the goddamn bottle.”

Leon rolled his eyes—he looked so much like Yao when he did that, prideful and arrogant, before relenting. Maybe it was because he knew that Matthias would pay, eventually. He always did, and as much as he was friends with Arthur and Yao, neither would let him stay unless he paid.

He didn’t remember much of the night—only glimpses of memories best forgotten, and the memory of crying into his hand, trying not to be noticed. He remembered unsure footing, and feeling free and light, the alcohol’s broken happiness tearing him away from the emotions had held a grip on his heart.

* * *

Lukas awoke for longer and longer periods of time, yet still he spend most hours of the day in an uneasy sleep. Yao said it was part of the healing process. Matthias drank away his concerns, and the memories of friends dying in this healing process.

A few more days passed. Arthur returned. His return would have been a casual affair, if not for Yao throwing himself at him, and getting invested in a passionate kiss. Matthias covered Leon’s eyes, though he didn’t seem to care all that much. 

Some guests who had seen the commotion—though there weren’t many, not in the small inn, ignored the general ruckus and simply went about their business. Matthias had not yet seen a single one of them caring much into the business of Matthias and a certain Lukas, but still, he was paranoid of the others that were staying within the establishment.

It was on the thirteenth day of their stay, thirteen days after Matthias had initially found Lukas and Emil drowning in the snow and their own blood, that Matthias eventually chose to enter the room with a small urn held tightly between his hands. Lukas, physically, was doing better. His fever was gone, his infection almost the same, and only the immediate implications of the knife wound truly mattered—thought it was healing as well, pretty well as Yao had always been excellent with a needle and thread.

Emotionally, Matthias couldn’t say the same.

But this had to be done.

When he entered the room, Lukas was lying down, face up, eyes closed. The only hint that he wasn’t sleeping at all was the way his hands fidgeted—one tracing symbols into the palm of the other. He was like this most days—quiet, withdrawn, empty. Matthias knocked on the already open door, if only to alert Lukas to his presence, before shutting it with his foot.

“What is it?” Lukas asked. His mouth barely moved, and he didn’t open his eyes.

“I have something for you,” Matthias said, holding the urn tighter between his hands, “It’s—it’s something that belongs to you, and I think you should have it.”

Lukas still didn’t open his eyes, and his voice was breathy and weak when he said his next words.

“I don’t care. Take whatever it is. I don’t care.”

It was snowing outside. An odd detail, but Matthias looked out the window at the light flakes that fell from a graying sky, in avoidance of looking at Lukas's face.

“It’s your brother,” he said, “The ground is too stiff to dig up here, in this weather, but his ashes are—I’ll leave them here. They’re yours.”

Lukas opened his eyes for that—struggling to sit up and look properly at the urn within Matthias's hands. After a moment, he reached a finger out to trace the polished black side. His eyes were already wet with tears, yet not one fell, not yet.

Matthias handed the urn to Lukas, letting him hold it close to him. It hurt, seeing Lukas give it such a look of longing and grief. And for the first time since waking up, holding the urn close to his chest as if it were Emil, wrapped in a hug, Lukas openly cried. It was a soft little thing, but Matthias could so clearly see the tears that cupped the sides of his face. He cried and he held it tighter and he cried even harder, until he was all out bawling. With each little sob, he said words that Matthias was never meant to hear. Small things.

“It should have been me,” or “Please come back.”

“I miss you. I love you.”

Lukas whispered of those things, shaking in his own grief and tears, with the knowledge that his baby brother would never return, and Matthias stepped forward before he could think, before he could process what he was doing, and he held Lukas tight in a hug.

Lukas didn’t protest, a fact that Matthias had been sure he’d do after he realized what he had done. No, Lukas didn’t protest, he simply cried harder and harder and eventually, he clung to Matthias's chest.

He cried himself to sleep, and Matthias left him in there, the urn sitting on the edge of his bedside.

* * *

“Here’s the money,” Matthias handed over the last of his gold, “It can’t even begin to reach what I owe you, but I’m thankful for what you’ve provided me and Lukas anyway. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

Arthur shook his head.

“I’ll take the money,” he said, “Or otherwise Yao would have my head. But you don’t owe us, not for saving a life, nor for providing a friend in need a place to stay.”

“Arthur,” Matthias's voice shook. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“I’m leaving tomorrow, so I guess this is goodbye.” Matthias said, “I’m going to ask Lukas if he wants to come with me. Just until he can take care of himself. He doesn’t have money—he can’t stay here. But, maybe, if he wants to—”

“You’re too generous. I wouldn’t do the same in your shoes. The cost of extra supplies, not to mention for an injured person, and the pace of travel—it’s not worth it, you fool,” Arthur huffed.

“You say I’m too generous, yet you’re turning down money I promised to give you.”

“Touche.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“Be safe, Matthias. I know what you’re running from, and I know you’re a complete idiot, but even you should know that everyone’s past catches up with them.” Arthur looked contemplatively at the table when he said that, let one of his fingers idly trace the cracks in the wood.

The words brought up tension in Matthias, and he looked away pointedly. It wasn’t like he was running. Arthur knew nothing about his situation.

“I could say the same to you,” Matthias said, “Or did I miss the moment that you and Alfred reconciled?”

Arthur froze at the mention of his brother. After a moment, he looked away.

“It is none of your concern.”

“I’m sorry.”

A pause.

“I’m sorry too. It wasn’t my place.”

Another pause.

“You were just worried.”

“I’m always worried.”

Was that really a shock, in this broken world?

* * *

“I’ll come.”

Matthias stopped mid-sentence, looking at Lukas in disbelief. He’d expected a little more resistance to the idea, but it just went to show how little he knew the man. He nodded numbly.

“You mean it?”

Lukas held the urn protectively in his hands, and he was perched at the end of his bed, finally healed with enough strength to walk. He’d been making good use of it, too—the past few days, he’d spend exploring the inn that he’d been unable to see aside from inside his cramped room. His clothes were changed as well, to something more substantial. Leathers and hides that would protect from the mountain’s harsh weather decorated his lithe frame.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Lukas deadpanned, “I have nowhere to go. No money. No food. Just myself and my dead brother. You’re offering me something I could hardly turn down.”

His breath hitched on dead brother, but his face remained an impassive one. Matthias didn’t know quite what he’d expected of Lukas, of the reasons he’d chosen to go. Maybe something more sentimental. 

“We’re leaving today. I’m already off to go, but I thought maybe we could have one last decent meal before we left?”

“You could have told me sooner,” Lukas said, by means of answer, but still he rose to his feet and gathered his few meager belongings—a single shoulder bag, accompanied by additional bandages, ointments, and a sleeping roll that Arthur had found in their storage. That, and of course, the ashes that he kept on him at all times, tucked carefully into the bag as not to jostle them.

“I didn’t know I was leaving until yesterday,” Matthias held the door for Lukas, as the two stepped out, “But I’m afraid I’ve overstayed my welcome, no matter what Arthur says.”

“Fair,” Lukas said, eyes cast downward as the two settled at a table and Yao brought them fresh bread from the kitchen, not even bothering to join their conversation for he was busy reprimanding Leon.

“That’s the part you’re supposed to deny,” Matthias huffed, taking a cut of the bread and biting into it. It was still warm and soft in his mouth. He let out a tiny sigh of pleasure while Lukas cut himself his own piece. He still wasn’t eating much—he didn’t want to upset himself and end up hurling it all out—but the bread was too tempting to resist, and food was a necessary thing, regardless of the betrayals it could cause the injured and sick.

“I’m not going to deny the truth,” Lukas retorted, “That’s an idiot’s job.”

Lukas still cried at night, Matthias thought, but during the day, when he knew he was being watched, he seemed to fall into this pattern of appearances. He acted okay, even when he wasn’t, he hid himself, put up a facade. Matthias almost wished he could tell him it was okay—but they weren’t friends. They didn’t know each other. They were two strangers who had been tied together by fate and Matthias's poor choices, and there was no reason Matthias had any right to encroach upon what little trust Lukas placed upon him.

There was no reason to pry into what was obviously hurting him.

“I’m not an idiot,” Matthias bristled, though, keeping up his own set of appearances. And it was fine. He was haunted at night as well—not by grief and tears he knew drove Lukas, but by nightmares and sleep terrors. He wouldn’t want a stranger—or a friend, for that matter—prying into things best kept buried.

Lukas rolled his eyes—they were such interesting eyes, Matthias thought, light purple in a way that reflected the lights of the room and demanded—commanded for it—attention. The eyes always seemed to lack any sort of emotion, aside from the moments when Lukas couldn’t hold it in anymore, but they always seemed alive. Broken, but alive.

No matter what was happening, Matthias's gaze always drifted back to those lavender eyes, perfectly shaped to match Lukas's face.

They finished their bread quickly, and Matthias checked his bag for any extra coins to leave on the table, out of guilt. Sure, he’d already paid his meager savings, and Arthur had accepted it with no problems, but after everything Yao and Arthur had done, it was only fitting to offer more.

Eventually he was able to find one silver coin, and he placed it on the table triumphantly, despite what little value it held, before alerting Leon that they were going and to say goodbye for him. They were gone far too quickly—all their stuff packed and on their backs. It was almost like they’d never been there, never even existed at the quaint little inn, nestled onto the side of a mountain.

* * *

“Tell me more about you,” Matthias said, breaking the silence of their slow trek. It had been a few hours—the sun was high in the sky, directing blinding light at the snow all around them. Their pace had been slow, much slower than if Matthias had gone alone, simply due to Lukas's frequent breaks to catch his breath. Injury made it hard, yet Lukas had not complained, not even once.

Lukas looked up at him as they walked, his fists clenching around the straps of his bag.

“Why?”

Matthias shrugged. There wasn’t an answer to that—not really—but the tension in the air was unbearable. His flask lay deep within the confines of his bag, and he’d really love to take a sip, and let the alcohol guide the situation, but he didn’t. Something held him back.

“Just making conversation. I could tell you about myself, if you want,” Matthias bit his lip, “I was born to the North. Farther then even up here. You know how it is—summers were hard, but winters were harder. Food often was scarce. It was fine, though. Not as bad as some make it out to be.”

Matthias truthfully would rather talk about the poverty of his childhood, the days where he’d spent smuggling food and sitting in his ramshackle house with his mother than anything that had happened after. Fifteen years old—Matthias still remembered the day he’d made the decision that had quite ruined his life.

Lukas looked away.

“My past doesn’t matter,” he said, “All that matters is that I tried to protect my brother—and see where that got me.”

Matthias didn’t have a response to that.

Their journey would take a week at best if they made haste. Matthias sincerely doubted they could make it that quickly, at their current rate. But still, Matthias was optimistic. A day into their journey, and already they were moving a little faster than he had anticipated.

The journey itself, though, Matthias was less optimistic towards. The silence seemed to be the default. The witty banter they’d struck within the inn had seemed to fade out after Matthias's attempt to converse, and instead, Lukas didn’t speak, and Matthias failed to find anything on his own part to say. Perhaps it was better that way. The mountains were commonly established as a ground for bandits. Gangs of those who never bothered with the law, nor cared for the government, but weren’t righteous enough to call themselves rebels. They were dangerous, and Matthias didn’t want to draw attention to themselves. So the silence wasn’t all that unwelcome—just uncomfortable.

So they trekked in silence, silent minutes making their way to lonely hours. Matthias felt it, deep within himself. He was a social creature by nature, but even now he dared not say another word to set Lukas off, not until the sun had just barely dipped below the horizon, and there was nothing else to do.

“We should stop here. It would be best if we weren’t traveling the paths at night.”

Lukas nodded. He seemed to hold a preference for actions over words, and Matthias took it for what it was. They set up quickly, laying out their bedrolls, and setting down for the night. Matthias kept his ax by his bedroll, in case of emergency, and it was for their own safety that they didn’t light a fire.

Night fell like a curse upon them. Despite the tension of the day, at least then the sun prevailed and chased away the darkness of their thoughts. During the night, they were alone. Even sitting a mere meter away from the other, they were alone.

Matthias waited until after Lukas's tears dried and his body had given way to rest before he even let himself lie down. It was hard to tell Lukas was crying—he tried to keep it hidden, so desperately, but the shudders were all too obvious, and so was the way that small sniffles would occasionally escape. Matthias didn’t blame him, nor did he comment on it. 

Lukas was broken. Matthias couldn’t say that he wasn’t, either.

After Lukas did finally drift away from the haunting grip of the wakeful world, Matthias rummaged around his bag vaguely. His heart was full and heavy, shattered into pieces and bleeding. And the night was the worst time of all—it was when it was nearly impossible to escape that place in his mind.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to look long before he’d found the flask. He uncapped it, promising himself only one sip that night, one sip to let the raw heart in his chest beat again, one sip to let all thoughts of his past drift from his mind.

When he woke in the morning, he was sprawled awkwardly beneath the blankets of his bedroll, the flask empty and tucked within his hand. He’d cursed, and thrown the bottle into the forest, watching it bounce off the trunk of a pine. Lukas was already awake at the time, staring idly at the ground. He didn’t comment on what he’d seen—and for that Matthias was grateful. It hadn’t been his finest moment, that of which, he was perfectly fine pretending hadn’t even occurred.

The second day didn’t fare much better, though. They still didn’t talk. Didn’t even make light conversation unless absolutely necessary. The night was brutal without drink, without any escape from the torture that was his thoughts. He’d found himself trapped within nightmarish fantasy, images of a past he’d rather have forgotten, and of ghosts he’d rather have left.

The light break of daylight was the only respite, and once again, Lukas had managed to rise earlier than him. Rise being only a word in the sense of permanent wakefulness—Matthias had woken many times throughout the night, never quite descending into that of full sleep through the agony that was his dreams, but alas, Lukas did wake sooner than him in the common sense of the word.

They third day was different from the others, though.

* * *

The mountainous path was the same as always, in its glimmering beauty. Sharp edges of hardened gray managed to wedge past the fragile layer of snow with intimidation in its heights. The pass itself—the one that Matthias had chosen to reach the capital was slim and narrow fitted through the edges of the cliffs. It was one he’d traveled before, despite the danger it posed to many, and he felt confident enough in navigating the narrow channels. It made the world seem that much darker though—barely any sky or sun could reach them in full, and even if it could, the sky was shrouded in that of light clouds that managed to only create a sense of loneliness within the voyage.

It only figured that among these elements, they’d talk eventually. Matthias was by nature, social, but Lukas's cold—yet enthralling—presence was something that felt too delicate to be burdened with something like unwanted talk. Matthias, in short, didn’t want to ruin anything—more than his error two days prior had.

So it wasn’t surprising that he had to hold his tongue. It wasn’t surprising that without the conversation to distract, he felt sickly with memories and lack of alcohol.

What was surprising was the fact that Lukas was the one who broke their seemingly permanent silence.

It was abrupt, as Matthias was figuring most things with Lukas were, yet still graceful. The sky and the earth and the world around them were so quiet, muffled by snow and cold, that it felt that perhaps they were the only beings on the planet. The only creatures who had chosen to dwell this reality, that had decided within their hearts to exist. The moments words sprung out of Lukas's mouth, the feeling of such only intensified.

“As I seem to recall,” Lukas said, softly, “You lived to the North? I just think it’s coincidental. I did as well.”

It was the first of many. Small exchanges. Matthias looked at Lukas, his heart betraying his shock at the sudden voice, but still, he found it in him to smile. With relief, anticipation, simply a happiness to be distracted—he couldn’t know.

“You did? So these conditions must be easy for you,” Matthias thought, “Truly, we might have lived near each other. I was around Krinsworth. You?”

Lukas shook his head, though a soft smile played on his lips.

“Emil and I moved quite a bit. But the place we stayed the longest was Orsshill.”

Neither place was too far from the other, Matthias thought to himself. Perhaps a week or two away. It was unlikely they’d have simply run into each other, but to think the man next to him was from a place of similar roots, of a place mere weeks within each other, it was strange. Nostalgic, perhaps. Like destiny.

“Orsshill? I’ve heard some interesting things about there. Stories about fae, and whatnot. The same rumours that remain in any such place of magic. In Krinsworth, all we had to worry about were petty thieves. It was boring, but boring is better than too much excitement, anyway.”

Matthias would be quick to say that, of course. He remembered the boredom clearly—and he’d exchanged that peaceful boredom for something much worse.

Lukas seemed apprehensive at his words, tensing slightly—but he didn’t leave the conversation so quickly, not like last time. Maybe he was lonely as well.

“The stories of fae weren’t so bad,” Lukas said, quiet, “Hunters patrolled the streets—true believers, in a sense. It was both admirable and foolish, foolish because of how consumed they’d become by their own hatred. It makes me wonder, though, do _you_ believe?”

Matthias wondered if he’d imagined the trace amounts of—was it fear? Discomfort?—in his voice, though it was so small an inflection that he must have. Lukas held his arms tight around himself as they conversed, though it couldn’t be because of the cold. Orsshill had even worse cold than Krinsworth, and Lukas hadn’t been affected so only moments before.

Whatever it was, Matthias didn’t pry. He simply stretched his fingers with his glove—flexing and unflexing to let warmth run through them, to test out the slightly stiff joints, while he considered his answer.

“I don’t,” Matthias eventually said, “I don’t believe what I don’t see with my own eyes. How can I believe in the fair folk if I’ve born no witness to them?”

He’d seen truths before, things that shattered his own beliefs down the middle after witnessing them. He’d seen truths that hurt more than anything else could, truths he’d only placed his faith in after seeing them play out before him. The fair folk were not one of them.

Lukas nodded at his answer, lost in thought.

“If so,” Lukas wondered, “What do you believe in? What could you have seen—what have you witnessed?”

The inquisitiveness of the question, yet still the sheer neutrality of it, had Matthias flinch. He turned away, stomach twisting with unpleasant things not worth remembering.

“A lot of things. A lot of horrible things.”

“Hmm. So I see. But, Køhler, was it all horrible? Are all things that people place their faith in truly that misguided?”

“No. Not all of it. There are good things. Fate. Peace. Love.”

Lukas was silent a moment, and Matthias—despite the nausea, and everything else that afflicted him at the moment, all of it caused by this conversation—felt disappointed, almost, at the thought that maybe it was over. 

“But do you believe in them?” Lukas finally asked, “Have you seen them and have been lead to believe that they hold truth?”

Matthias looked down. He felt that mayhaps his soul shuddered. He’d never been taken to believe in them. He’d never seen such things unfold within himself since naive childhood. But.

“No. I haven’t. But at least I have hope. And that much I know I believe in. I hope that things will get better. I hope that I may have the chance to believe in such joyful things, later. It’s that hope that carries me through it all.”

Lukas nodded again, like that settled it, before twisting his head away. There was a soft smile on his lips.

“For an idiot, you’re quite admirable.”

Matthias blinked.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me. I insulted you.”

Matthias laughed at that—it came from somewhere deep in his chest, somewhere he didn’t think he’d had anymore. “Maybe you did. But you also complimented me—I believe that warranted some gratitude.”

“Hardly.”

Their conversation ended at that point. It was a comfortable spot. A spot where nothing else was left to be said, and Matthias was left with the turmoil of emotions that resulted. There was something fluttering in there—light, a dancing emotion. But still, deeper within, there was something else. Something darker and sadder and broken.

* * *

That night was the same as every other. Lukas cried. It was still a moment of privacy, with his back turned firmly, and his sniffles muffled within the bedroll. Matthias could only imagine the look on his face.

Lukas was like glass. Beautiful glass, one of graceful patterns curling into delicate shapes. Strong, too. But shattered. Shattered, with pieces so sharp that to pick one up—even in an attempt to help—only resulted in hurt too. Matthias thought that maybe he was the same.

Lukas eventually fell into a restful sleep. And Matthias stared at the sky beyond, his heart hurting.

Why’d he do what he did?

He’d made a mistake, simply put. A mistake. Of course it was one—joining any form of the war effort should be clearly regarded as one. But for some reason, back then, it felt right.

It only made sense that it had hurt him more than he’d ever let on.

* * *

“Køhler.”

“Mm?”

“Why did you help me?”

Matthias propped himself up on his elbows. It was still early in the morning, yet still exhaustion hung heavy on his limbs. He could feel the last few nights getting to him, and his body felt akin to lead. Last night had been particularly bad. He’d woken, images still hanging over his head, while his body stiffened and shook with tremors he couldn’t control.

But that had passed. The only thing that hadn’t ceased to leave was the odd feeling of sickness in his body, the pounding of his skull, and the hurt that seemed to wrack his body. Now, Matthias spared a glance over at Lukas—who was gently prodding his own side. Likely he was investigating his own injury—and a glance at the opened ointment and roll of bandages by his side implied that he’d just finished redressing it.

“I helped because you needed it,” Matthias croaked out, voice still hoarse, “You were on death’s doorstep.”

Lukas frowned, carefully gathering the supplies he’d scattered around him. His face was vacant, lost within the memories of the past. Unconsciously, he seemed to rub the urn that he’d sat beside him. The mornings were always a time where Lukas seemed in two places at once, lost within his head, yet ever present in the moment. During the day the grief would cease, if only on the surface, and if only temporarily, but the morning was not quite as lucid.

“I don’t know why, still,” Lukas murmured, “A hundred other men would have left me to die. Or finished the job. But you didn’t.”

Matthias grunted, pulling himself up into a more steady position. His ax lay right beside his bedroll, in case of an attack. Not that he expected any at this moment, but during the night it was especially when they were at their most vulnerable. Though he felt pretty vulnerable now—raw on the inside, likely stricken with fever if he were to believe his own body.

“I couldn’t leave you to die.”

“You must be some kind of saint.”

That was said with a scoff, like Lukas couldn’t wrap his head around it. 

“I’m really not,” Matthias said, though his defense seemed half hearted, “I just can’t leave someone to die.”

“You’re better than I am.” There was something melancholic in his look. Lukas had begun placing each object he’d removed into his bag, methodically. He did that all without looking at Matthias again, like he wasn’t sure what he wanted to find.

And truly, Matthias had no idea how to react. He faltered—mouth opening and closing a couple of times before he finally gave into having no response. What could he even say? He didn’t know Lukas. Not that well, at least. What he did know came from first impressions, of a man laid within the bloody snow, and of the man who could share wit in easy banter. But he didn’t know Lukas. Even if his very being protested the idea of being better than Lukas, what could he say to convince a man who refused to belay any part of his past?

He was secretive, mysterious, and Matthias would never believe that Lukas was any worse a man than he. But Matthias didn’t know anything about him. And he couldn’t refute a point that Lukas would only counter with just that.

“We should go,” Lukas eventually said, dimly. He had been caressing the urn within his fingers, but now, he placed it gingerly within his bag again, and stood up. “We don’t have all day.”

* * *

They kept walking.

* * *

“So Bondevik,” Matthias asked, “Let’s play a game.”

Lukas levelled Matthias with a coy look. He was struggling, though he refused to allow them any breaks. Matthias was worried it would further aggravate the wound, but Lukas had said that it would be fine. So they kept going.

“What sort of game?”

“I ask a question,” Matthias said. The path had widened over the last day, so that it was no longer a narrow channel, and now simply a winding road that lead through the forest that lay on either side of them. Matthias often had to duck beneath winding branches of trees, due to his height—but more so due to the height of his ax, which still remained attached to his back. “Then you ask a question—we keep going, answering with complete truthfulness. If we really do not desire to answer, we can pass.”

Lukas let out a brief laugh at that.

“Of course you’d suggest something of the sort.”

Matthias hardly could contain the lopsided grin of his. Despite the way his hands shivered irrationally, and his head pounded, he could manage as long as he had Lukas to distract him. Somewhere along the way, Matthias had found himself enthralled in the mystery that was Lukas Bondevik. So while his body and heart craved for alcohol and peace of mind, his own thoughts were less traitorous.

“Does that mean you’ll play?”

“I don’t see why not,” Lukas said, huffing slightly with breath. Matthias made sure to slow the pace of their walk so that it might be less difficult for his injured self. “It’s fair, and I can deny any answer I want. You may go first.”

“If you’re certain, then I will,” Matthias thought for a moment. Some part of him had thought Lukas wouldn’t agree, but again, Lukas was an unpredictable force. It was part of the reason Matthias found himself so drawn to him. “Cider or beer?”

“Wine.”

“That wasn’t an option.” Matthias let himself pout a moment, though he had to grin despite it all, “Your turn.”

“I’ve been wondering about this for a while,” Lukas began, trailing off as his gaze slid up until it was above Matthias's head, “But what exactly have you done to your hair for it to appear so…”

“Handsomely rugged?”

“...untamed.”

Matthias let out a sound of faux hurt, clutching a gloved fist over his heart. “How cruel.”

It was enough theatrics for Lukas to roll his eyes. But even Lukas couldn’t hide the smirk that played on his lips. It was soft and harsh in one, though it felt pretty on Lukas's features. Matthias imagined that everything looked pretty on Lukas—it felt that it would be that way, at least. Maybe it was just a side effect of his fevered mind.

“Just answer the question.”

“Fine, fine. The secret is natural volume and talent.” Matthias flipped his head to the side, in a motion of showiness.

“Køhler.”

“No seriously, I don’t really know!” Matthias fumbled for a second, “Question two! What were your parents like?”

It felt like a safe question. But the way Lukas's mouth tightened immediately let him know it wasn’t as safe as he had thought. There was barely a moment of silence, however. Lukas didn’t dwell on the answer.

“They’re long dead. But from what little I know, they were good people.”

It was short, blunt. But it wasn’t harsh. Despite the fact that it meant that Lukas—unless he had another unnamed sibling, or something of the sort—didn’t have anyone left, he wasn’t cruel. Matthias felt himself wince—already preparing himself to apologize. It only felt natural that Lukas cut him off before he could even begin.

“I didn’t know them that well, so it doesn’t matter. Though, for my second question, I suppose I’ll ask the same.”

The guilty conscience didn’t leave—though a new level of disdain for the question arrived with it. Matthias hadn’t though much before answering, but to answer honestly felt like taking something he had, and showing it off for someone who didn’t have something so important.

“They’re...fine.” Matthias looked away, “I love them, but I haven’t seen them in a while.”

Matthias didn’t have to see to imagine what Lukas looked like—pretty mouth tightened into a thin line.

“You should see them,” Lukas said, “Once we reach the capital. Which I suppose is my third question—though you should go first.”

Right. Matthias shook himself slightly, peeking back at Lukas out of the corner of his eye. Another question. There was one he desperately wanted to ask, but there was time for it later.

“So Bondevik,” Matthias said with forced joviality, “Tell me—do you believe?”

He didn’t have to clarify. It was clear enough from their conversation the other day just what he was talking about. Lukas pondered a moment, face clouded with thought, before he finally answered.

“I do.”

Somehow, the answer felt a little too delicate, too tiny. Matthias felt something else in it. Belief in the fae was usually something answered so simply, but for once, it didn’t feel like a complete answer. Matthias let it go.

“For my question,” Lukas wondered, “Why are you—or we, I suppose—heading to the capital?”

The answer wasn’t something he had to dwell on.

“I’m meeting with a friend. His name is Berwald Oxenstierna. A mutual in my line of work. Any instruments, hobbies, weapons—what are you proficient in?”

“I learned violin when I was young, and I imagine I can fight fairly well—though not with any traditional weapons. Now. Romance?”

“My mother tried to marry me off to this noble when I was thirteen. I made a mistake, though, and we never got around to it. Aside from that, not much. I’ve had stints, as most everyone has. How about any irrational fears you had as a child?”

And so the questions continued, a rapid fire of information going both ways. Nothing too important. Occasionally they would graze a topic that was best left unspoken, and they’d steer it away from such conversation. Hours passed. Sometimes the conversation would bend and sway into something less taxing—same as it had for the days before.

Something had to happen. Of course, at about midday, while snow continued to light on their chilled faces and ears, Matthias felt himself lock up. It was sudden. For a moment he felt fine—and the next moment, he didn’t remember anything, aside from the rush of blood in his ears.

His consciousness returned later, though it felt like merely a passing second to him, and he felt shaken. Lukas was sitting over him, expression uncharacteristically concerned, one of his fingers tracing Matthias's cheek. And most obviously—somehow, he’d ended up on the ground, pressed within the cold whiteness.

For a moment he simply blinked, confused at the turn his body had taken. He could feel himself shaking. Quiet shivers that didn’t cease their grip on his body.

“Matthias?” Lukas asked, quiet, “Can you hear me now?”

 _Now_?

“Yeah,” Matthias said simply, blinking again. “What happened?”

Lukas took a deep breath—shuddering slightly, as he withdrew into himself. Even the hand that had been laid so carefully across Matthias's cheek was removed, and with it, a warmth that Matthias hadn’t imagined he’d miss so desperately.

“You collapsed. And then started shaking—uncontrollably. As I take it, you weren’t...aware of what was happening.”

There was something uncomfortable in his throat—heavy within it. He swallowed. “How long?”

“A few minutes, I think,” Lukas sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You idiot. What happened to you?”

“I don’t really know—”

“That’s a lie and we both know it.”

Silence. Matthias looked away, trying to school his expression into something not so incriminating. Lukas would see right through any words he could say, so he kept quiet.

“Matthias.”

“It’s nothing, okay?” Matthias frowned at himself, feeling tears sting the edges of his eyes, “Just another part of my fucked up life.”

Lukas didn’t seem to know what to do, but it didn’t matter much—Matthias covered his eyes with his arm, letting the darkness bring with it what little peace he could muster. He’d deny he cried—that tears seeped into his sleeve, and that he felt way too cold.

“I can’t. I can’t tell you. Please. There are things in your life that you can’t share, and the same goes for me.”

There was no response for the longest time—and Matthias refused to move his arm to look. He could imagine how pathetic he looked right now—hiccuping into his sleeve and letting himself drown in his own self pity.

Until finally, he felt something.

There was something in his hand—something warm and gentle, that squeezed his fingers ever so slightly with the promise of comfort. It held him tenderly, rubbing circles in the back of his palm, and eventually simply interlacing their fingers. The gloves made the entire situation awkward, difficult, but even then the warmth felt ever present.

“Okay.”

It was one word. It was a shaky word—weak and breathy, like Lukas didn’t know what to say properly. So he fell back into silence, holding Matthias's hand, and sitting with him in the snow.

* * *

Two more days. Two more days passed, and with it, the tremors got worse and more frequent. Lukas had spared some of his medicine for Matthias, despite needing it. Some of it was for fever, and Lukas gave that in its entirety to Matthias. Nights were hellish—Matthias frequently found himself lapsing between a place of dreams and wakefulness, and in each, his past haunted him.

Lukas didn’t seem to know what to do. Matthias didn’t quite blame him—nights were the worst for them both, and Lukas couldn’t stop mourning for Matthias's sake. And during the day—well, balancing an injury like his, and Matthias's tremors couldn’t be easy.

Needless to say, they made slower progress than before. The conversation and banter they’d found dwindled for lack of energy. And Matthias—

Of course he blamed himself. How could he not? It was his fault. If only he had stayed at Arthur’s and Yao’s for longer, had let himself swallow his pride and allow their gratitude, and more importantly—had let Lukas heal. Maybe Matthias would still find himself in this situation, but Lukas at the least would have a chance to travel on his own.

* * *

Lukas seemed hesitant. Their rations were dwindling, mostly due to the fact that they were supposed to be off the mountain. There was around two more days at their current pace, but both knew that anything could happen. That their own flaws could take a turn for the worse.

It was night. The sky stretched endlessly above them, prettily, and only broken by the soft edges of trees. The snow was a lot lighter on this ground, more like a layer of frost than any real powder. And they sat, each in their individual bedrolls, as Lukas stared distantly at the ground in grief, while Matthias felt himself already brace for the dreams.

“We can’t keep going like this,” Lukas finally whispered, “We’re both fucking cold. And you’re not getting any sleep. How are you supposed to improve if you can’t sleep?”

Lukas had left out his own end of things, though it was to be expected at this point. For a man who claimed to be unsympathetic, Matthias had noticed he often held quite the level of empathy for him.

“We’ll make it,” Matthias said, “Because we have to. It’s not that much longer. We’re close. And after that, it’s another day’s journey to get to a village. We can restock and rest. We’ll be fine.”

Lukas gave him a look that promised a fight, before sighing heavily.

“It’s not enough.”

Quiet.

“What else do you suggest?” Matthias hugged himself from within the fur of the bedroll. If there was one thing that Lukas was right about, it was the cold. Both should not be affected by it—but the days took their toll. Sleepless, exhausted bodies, each wracked with some level of injury or sickness. They couldn’t fight the cold like that. Matthias shivered. “It’s not like we can’t try to be a little optimistic.”

Lukas looked away.

“I have some ideas. We’re far enough away now that...it would be a risk, but fire would go a long way to help us both. But we’d have to stay awake to watch it, and there’s still a chance we’d get caught,” Lukas said, “The other option would be to share a bedroll. It would help us conserve warmth.”

Matthias blinked for a moment, before nodding to himself.

“Okay. Come here.”

He tried to make a display of lifting the cover of the bedroll so that Lukas could find space, and after a moment, Lukas seemed to take it as what it was meant to be. He rolled his eyes, though Matthias thought that perhaps was his default reaction to anything—a show of his arrogance—before he stepped towards him.

He crawled beside Matthais stiffly. They were both facing each other, Lukas's eyes vacant and red around the edges. It only took a moment for Matthias to find comfort in the situation—without thinking much of it, he leaned closer so that they were touching, and after another tender moment, Lukas curled into him as well.

It was the warmest Matthias had been since the inn.

The question Matthias had to ponder was why his heart felt so raw in his chest? Why it felt like a beast, screaming for attention while pleasuring in the warmth that pooled within it?

He had no answers.

That night he fell asleep easier—each nightmare was assuaged by a gentle voice, tired as it was, and of a hand squeezing his own.

* * *

That morning, Lukas awoke earlier than Matthias again. When Matthias's eyes flickered open, they did to find an empty spot, devoid of the happy warmth that used to be there. And stationed near the edge of a tree trunk, Lukas sat, staring at the urn within his hands. 

It was the same morning ritual. Nothing had changed. Though this time, Matthias was quiet as he passed Lukas his morning rations, and packed up camp.

* * *

“What do you dream about?”

Lukas looked at Matthias, seemingly caught off guard. His lips moved to mouth the question to himself before he quite registered what Matthias was saying, and then he turned away to contemplate his answer. He always was fond of hiding his face. To hide emotion or thought, either way, it seemed to be Lukas's frequent go-to.

“What I dream about?” he repeated, as if caught under fire. His voice felt oddly full, like there was something uncertain in it. “I don’t remember most of them. My dreams, I mean. Mostly just the feelings they leave me. Peaceful, I guess. But sometimes I dream of memories. Of Emil.”

Matthias nodded to himself. His own dreams didn’t sound nearly as soft as Lukas's—though that was a given. Still, there he was again—Emil. Always near. Matthias sometimes wondered at him, for he’d never known Emil, had never seen him as anything but the grisly image of prey that had been locked forever inside his head.

“Tell me about him.” Matthias said before he realized what he was doing. It was only moments later that he felt his eyes widen, and he looked at Lukas frantically. “I mean, wait, no, if you don’t want to that’s fine, I’m sorry!”

Lukas shook off his concerns with a simple “it’s fine,” not quite looking at Matthias. But then he did, and something flickered in his vision, something Matthias couldn’t recognize.

“Do you really want to know?”

Lukas looked so pretty at moments like that—his hair delicately falling around his face, framing it comfortably. Matthias felt that he must have women and men alike falling for him, at every turn. There was just something about him, some charm that came not from his amiability—for that hardly existed. 

Still, Matthias brushed such thoughts aside in order to nod eagerly at the question. Lukas faltered—but only so briefly to provide a small beat in their conversation.

“He was mature for his age. Almost desperately so. He’d shed any thoughts of childhood to survive, and as such, the mere pleasures other children enjoyed, he could only scoff at. But that was largely my fault, I presume. I raised him in an environment where he’d had to grow up too early,” Lukas laughed bitterly, “It was the exact opposite of what I’d wanted for him. But he was a kind boy. Too kind, sometimes. Cautious but generous. Distanced, but hardly cold. And snarky. He lived off of making me regret my every word.”

Lukas didn’t seem to realize he was crying again—the tears were soft and quiet, yet still they fell down his face.

“He did everything in his power to support us both. Just like I did. He wanted to be equal to me. Wanted to help as much as me. And yet, despite it all, he was still a child. A pessimistic one, but still, a child. He didn’t understand quite the extent of danger in the world. And thanks to my own ineptitude, he was killed from it.”

It was only when a soft sob erupted from Lukas's throat that he seemed to realize he was crying. He looked at his hand in shock, sticking and damp with his own tears, and he immediately went to wipe the tears off his face—though it only irritated his reddened eyes more. And Matthias stumbled for words, in that moment. What could he even say?

In the end, all he did was reach for Lukas's hand, and squeeze it softly. He hoped it was enough. The squeeze back implied as much, at least.

* * *

It took another two and a half days to get off the mountain—but at a certain point, it was clear that he was getting better. The irrational symptoms that seemed to constantly wreak havoc throughout Matthias's body got better with time, and nights sleeping with Lukas proved more restful than they’d been even with the alcohol. Maybe it was the sheer exhaustion. Maybe it was because he clung to something more real, more substantial, than drink ever had been. Maybe it was some combination of both.

They reached a village by the end of the third night.

It was a small place. Not exactly quaint, or anything of the sort. Matthias imagined it had something to do with living so close to known bandit territory. It still seemed to house quite a bit of people, though, considering it was on the road to the capital, and at the verge of three different roads—one of which was from the heavily populated South. There were many people there as a result, travelers and merchants and peddlers. 

The two of them had staggered into town—filthy beyond thought, tired, and worse for wear. That, and without money. Matthias cursed his stupid need to pay Yao and Arthur his entire savings, and wished that karma struck them for accepting it so readily.

Maybe it wasn’t fair. Granted, they were his friends. But still.

The man behind the counter looked unimpressed as Matthias pleaded their case. He was shorter than Matthias was, blonde hair that was cut neatly at around his chin, and his face seemed adorned with a permanent scowl.

“No. I’m not offering you a room for some unwanted pity story,” the man muttered, “No money, no board.”

Matthias glanced at Lukas, who gave him a rather unimpressed look. Matthias turned back to the man.

“Please. Look, we’ll even take up board in the stables, if you so offer it to us.”

The man sighed heavily.

“I’m not giving you anything for free.”

Matthias opened his mouth to protest, but Lukas cut him off. Maybe it was for the best. Matthias could petition to emotion, but this man clearly wasn’t the empathetic type. Lukas, at the least, seemed to come up with some sort of logic.

“We’ll work. Not for long, but for board and food, a couple of days shouldn’t hurt. You could use the extra help,” Lukas began, “We can both cook meals for guests, act as wait staff, truly anything you need.”

Matthias perked at realization—bouncing on the balls of his feet as he threw in his own thoughts.

“And my companion, he can play the violin! Entertainment always provides a big boom in business. If there was just somewhere we can borrow one, I’m sure we—”

The man waved off his words, brow furrowing. He didn’t seem opposed to the idea, rather, he seemed to actually consider it. Lukas threw an uncertain look at Matthias, and yet, both remained silent in anticipation.

“Fine. I don’t care. This busy, and I can use all the fucking help I can get,” the man said, “My sister has a violin that she doesn’t play. You can borrow that—hell, if you do good enough work, you can take it for all I care. You’ll have to share a room, I don’t have that much space, and I need to keep at least one room open at all times for guests who can actually pay.”

Matthias felt himself relax, untensing, just with pure relief. He exchanged a look with Lukas, glad to find that he looked just as relieved, if not more careful about how he expressed it.

“I’m Vash Zwingli,” Vash huffed, “My sister is Lili. Her husband, Raivis—you better treat them both well, unless you want your ass beat. Now go get a bath—you reek. Second floor. Prepare the water yourself.”

Matthias hurried to agree, and he tugged slightly on Lukas's arm to get him to join him. They climbed the stairs as quickly as they could manage, both eager to wash, yet both winded by the movement. At the top of the staircase, Lukas stopped suddenly.

“Are you okay?” Lukas asked, caution flicking through his eyes, “You aren’t pushing yourself too much, right idiot?”

“I’m feeling better,” Matthias said. He wasn’t sure how much of that was true, but hopefully the words would sedate Lukas enough. “I’ll be even better tonight.”

This was where doubt flickered in Lukas's eyes especially—the worry made his usually vacant stare almost penetrating. Matthias could almost feel the disapproval through the stare.

“I’m not a fool,” Lukas said quietly, “I know enough about what’s going on to tell you not to do this.”

“Why not? It’ll make me feel better. And sleep better.” Matthias sighed, “It’ll make everything go away.”

They stood there for a moment, before Lukas tucked one of his hands inside Matthias's and looked away.

“You do this, and you’ll be doing more harm than good. Trust me on this.” Lukas's voice was unnaturally harsh, cold and sharp at the edges. Firm in its decisiveness. That was what felt most odd—because even as Lukas said the words with such sharp clarity, he laid one hand on top of Matthias's forehead, so gingerly that Matthias had barely felt the touch.

It was a measurement of the fever that had more or less ceased, though it’s return could happen at any moment. And Lukas knew that well—though for now he felt satisfied with his results, and he drew his hand back.

“Trust me,” he said again, affirming his words, before he twisted around on foot, “Now I’m going to take a bath. Whether or not you’ll do that or stand idly in the hall is up to you.”

The second floor was set up in a way that was easy to affirm which room was which—wooden signs carved with the names of the rooms were firmly bolted to the doors, and of which, the bath room was placed right beside the stairs. It was there than Lukas disappeared into, and it was there that Matthias followed.

They were quick to set up the bath—thankfully, it was set up in an efficient system. They merely had to heat the fire beneath the tub, and the water would heat by itself. They spent a good amount of time in there, getting rid of grime, and relaxing. It was odd to see Lukas's wound in the open, still glaring and red, but healing well for the journey they’d undertaken.

Of course, the water was blissful, and they spent most of the time in there with their eyes closed in tranquil silence. It was only around an hour later, when Matthias knew he’d have to remove himself that he did so, changing into his only other pair of clothes—something less structured for warmth, and more for restful days at one location. They left the room ready and dressed, and Vash was quick to point them to their shared room—the smallest at the back of the hall, since they weren’t paying, and telling them that they’d start officially tomorrow. He was brash in his words, making sure they knew exactly what he wanted, and that they would answer to Lili in the case of work.

They retired for the night, exhausted by the travel, and coaxd to sleep by the cleanliness of their skin, and by good food offered to them as well as the other guests. They shared the bed, and despite it’s small size, they cuddled together the way they had back on the mountain, letting the warmth of each other’s body’s ease the other into sleep.

* * *

Innkeeping was a skill that Matthias never thought he’d revere. But it was difficult not to, when faced with all the difficulties that even the lowest rung of workers had to accomplish. Preparing food, watching after the stables, cleaning up, acting as wait staff—it all came together to be perhaps one of the most hellish jobs Matthias had ever worked.

An exaggeration of course. But the point still stood. Matthias hated it. He hated that he stood so close to the source of his temptation, that beer or cider or whiskery was always in plain view, and that even a single reproachful look from Lukas was preventing him from taking any. Back on the mountain, the craving had been bad—terrible, even—but he’d been far too distracted simply trying to survive the separation in the first place. Now he was full and perhaps ravaged by nightmares, but still much more well slept than he’d been at any other time on his trip. And he was surrounded with drink, with something that his body wanted with every fiber of his soul.

He didn’t know why Lukas cared what he drank. He wasn’t sure Lukas knew entirely, either. But more importantly—he didn’t know why he cared if Lukas cared. It was stupid. Irrational. He’d known the man for—what, the better part of a month now? Why should Lukas's opinion matter so much?

Still, he attempted to distance himself from the drink, to work and fulfill his duties at Vash’s place, as well as picking up whatever odd jobs anyone in town had to offer. Money was of the highest priority, and Vash wouldn’t pay them—so Matthias had to find work elsewhere, in that regard. Lukas's playing every night always wound up in some tips, but he had to give the better part of his share to Vash, and so it was slow going.

They weren’t supposed to stay long. Only four nights was the plan, and they stuck to it. Each night they’d fall asleep, utterly tired from the day’s events, within each other’s arms, and the next day, they’d be back up and working again, trying to satisfy Vash’s sadistic pleasure in having unpaid labor.

But the fourth night, at least, they left with some meager savings stored, and Lili—the friendly girl she was—giving them both a hug and luck for the rest of their journey.

The next steps weren’t so easy.

* * *

“How are you even sure Oxenstierna is still in the capital?” Lukas asked the first night they’d left the village, haughty. He was plucking a few notes on the violin—it was an old thing, pretty though, and Lili had gifted him it. She’d said someone named Roderich had given it to her long ago, back when he and Vash still were acquainted, and that while she had found the gift lovely, she’d never bothered to learn to play it.

It had sounded like enough of a messy situation as it was, so Lukas had taken the gift without asking for a greater explanation, and Matthias had stared at their temporary boss in confusion at the fact that he could even manage to have relationships for the next night or so.

Now, however, they were seated at the edge of a well-trodden road. The weather was still cold, but out of the range of mountains—in particular, their mountain—there was no snow, and for that, Matthias was thankful. They’d set up around a campfire and only set one bedroll out, due to habit.

“I sent him a letter, back when we were still at Arthur’s,” Matthias gave his ax a long look, before continuing the process of sharpening it, “He said he’d be there a while. He’d found something, supposedly, that interested him.”

Knowing Berwald, it either was something he was too embarrassed to say, or it was work-related. The wording had been particularly vague in the returning letter, Matthias didn’t know which had a better chance, with Berwald. He could only hope it wasn’t something due to their work—Matthias didn’t need the added pressure, nor the guilt.

“Hmm.” Lukas stopped for a moment, twisting one of the pegs slowly. He’d been significantly out of practice the first night, but even now, the skill seemed to return to him abnormally fast. Matthias could only assume he’d played frequently in the past. Lukas plucked the string after a moment, too lazy to get the bow and actually hear the note in it’s most forthcoming form, but still, he looked satisfied enough with the note. “It’s only three weeks to the capital, correct?”

Matthias nodded, setting his ax down. The journey didn’t feel like much considering the time they’d already spent together. Lukas, ever since leaving the mountain, had became a block of stone—he kept his fears held within himself, his mourning deep within his heart. He had become clinical, as a result. It wasn’t too different from his usual personality—just that even at moments where he’d used to become most vulnerable, now his impassiveness grew tenfold.

Three weeks, though. Matthias gave Lukas a look, out of the corner of his eye.

* * *

“Tell me a story.”

“Why?”

“Why must you question everything I say?”

“Because you’re an idiot.”

A laugh.

“That’s a fair point. But. I still want you to tell me a story.”

“What would I even tell you?”

“Something interesting. Come on, Bondevik, I’m sure even someone as bland as you can do it.”

“Wow, insult me. You truly know how to convince someone.”

Another laugh.

“Please?”

“Fine. Only because you asked so nicely.”

“Or you were charmed by my dashing good looks.”

“Hardly.”

“Weren’t you going to tell me a story? Quiet and do it.”

“What are you, a child?”

“Get on with it Bondevik! No more distractions!”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this. Alright. Once upon a time, there was a boy lost in the woods. He was young, naive, idiotic—much like someone I know.”

“Yeah, I know Leon was quite the idiot.”

“As I was saying, there was this boy. The trees around him seemed to stretch into walls of nature, impenetrable by mere logic alone. He felt—no, not just felt, he was—trapped within the confines of nature’s cruelty. He walked for many days and nights, each time only losing himself further within the embrace of the shadowing trees.”

“Kind of like us.”

“Shut it. I’m talking.”

“Fine, fine.”

“Eventually, the more he walked, the more his legs began to fail. The more they hurt, the more his stomach grumbled for nourishment, the more his mind seemed to blur at the edges. And at the verge of death, lying amongst the snow and the wooden scenery around him, he thought to himself that he was going to die. He thought to himself that the world would not miss him, that he would be nothing in this broken world, a memory discarded as easily as the fine details of a rodent’s life.”

“I should have taken you for the depressing type.”

“He let his eyes fall closed, too tired to summon tears, when he heard a voice. It was quiet, soft, much unlike anything he’d heard before. It said, do you want to live? And without thinking, the boy managed a raspy affirmative. But he was ridden with exhaustion, and the claws of dangerous unconsciousness pulled at him, dragging him under so that the last thing he was aware of was the feeling of touch on his face.”

“And he died?”

“No. The voice had saved him. He opened his eyes again to see a girl, as beautiful as anything he’d ever seen before, touching his forehead gently among the snow and trees. She was like the moon in radiance, or perhaps the stars.”

“Ah. Romance. Not something I’d expected from you.”

“And as the boy watched her, transfixed, his exhaustion and hunger seemed to melt away, seemed to fade into the body of the girl. She had saved him, and only a moment later, she backed away. I’ll lead you to safety, she promised, as long as you promise never to tell a soul what happened here tonight. The boy nodded, eagerly, willing to follow the girl at any cost.”

“Magic?”

“Hush. So she led him. The trees that had trapped him before, had been the bars to his cage, seemed to open for the both of them, whispering audibly to them both in hushed tones. The snow glinted with promise, and—within the darkness of night, the boy swore he could see something ethereal about the girl. She shone in the dark, like no human could have, and her feet made no sound even as they touched the ground.”

“Definitely magic.”

“Didn’t I tell you to hush, Køhler?”

“Sorry, sorry. Continue.”

“It felt like days had passed, or perhaps mere moments. It felt too soon, either way, when the trees seemed to open in the passage before them, and he could see the glimmering lights of his village. Before he returned, the girl stopped him. Remember your promise, she said, don’t tell a single soul. But her expression softened, and she leaned forward—kissing him gently before she was gone, the air in front of him empty.”

There was a pause.

“And so, the boy returned. He kept his promise, for as long as he felt capable, but it became too much to bear. The girl remained firm in his mind, a presence that he could not leave, and soon, he’d told the village of the strange occurrence in the woods.”

“So I take it she went after him?”

“The fae are not so cruel. No, it was the people that acted—fearful and hate-driven. They burned the forest down, cruelly, and killed any they found living there. The boy saw the girl again—her body, splayed criminally across the ground, eyes wide and unassuming. And it was the last time he saw her, before she was burned with her brethren. The end.”

“You’re so heartless.”

“Why? I wasn’t the one mercilessly killing.”

“I asked for a story, and instead you wound me with your words.”

“I thought you knew the darkest parts of the world? That you believed in terrible things?”

“I do. I have. That’s why I don’t want to hear of it. I want to hear things fantastical and happy, things that while I may not believe in, provide me hope.”

“So what? Love? Do you want a story of love and happy endings?”

“Why would I not? I would never deny myself my own happy ending, you know.”

“I know. But they don’t exist.”

“They don’t. But, maybe, if I could, I’d like to find myself believing in one.”

* * *

He’d woken up earlier than Lukas.

It was a strange occasion, one that Matthias had never thought might occur, but his nightmares had been beyond hellish, and Matthias couldn’t stay asleep. So morning came, just the barest sliver of sunlight signifying the break of dawn, and Lukas remained fast asleep, tucked into Matthias's side.

Matthias took the time to relish the moment, the peaceful quiet. Lukas breathed calmly into him, fingers twitching subconsciously in his sleep against Matthias's torso. There was a delicate look to him at a moment like this—his face was smooth, clear of any upset expression, and his mouth seemed soft, tempting almost. Matthias let him sleep, keeping one arm still wrapped around him, breath catching as he nuzzled in closer. It only figured that the sun seemed to dawn purely to illuminate Lukas, and Matthais felt oddly entranced by the subtle way it lit up his long lashes and emphasized the pale sheen of his skin.

In a moment as content as this one, Matthias found it only interrupted by the swift beat of his heart—a constant, persistence that beat insistently from behind the bars of his ribcage. Matthias wondered if maybe it was sickness.

Perhaps it was merely the excitement of being up first, of waking before Lukas. Or maybe, Matthias thought, as Lukas's eyes fluttered open, it was something else. Something that made the deep violet of such eyes, dazed with sleep, but gorgeous and deep in their own right, that made his heart beat so violently against his will.

“You awake?” Matthias asked, gently. Lukas looked vulnerable—face plain and open, not hidden by carefully crafted walls within his heart. The expression was pained, wounded, but not quite as bad as the following weeks.

“No, obviously,” Lukas said, voice cracking under his familiar snark. He yawned slightly, dazed. “I’ll get ready.”

Matthias watched him, as Lukas removed himself from the comfort of the bedroll, shivering slightly in the early morning air. It was too cold for Matthias to find even the most minimal of motivation to leave the warmth of bed—quickly cooling due to lack of Lukas's presence, but still significantly more comfortable to being in the open air.

Besides, he was tired. He doubted he’d be able to fall asleep, even if he could, even if he wanted to. And he didn’t want to. There was a reason he’d been awake before Lukas, and that was because sleep deprivation was better than the hellish nightmares that plagued his sleep.

“Get off your ass,” Lukas muttered, slightly kicking his bed prone form. Matthias let out sounds of muffled protest. “You need to get ready as well.”

A fair point, but Matthias sighed. He made a dramatic show of leaving the roll, letting out low sounds of protest and upset. Lukas merely flipped him off, and while Matthias had grinned in response, they prepared in a general silence, left to their own thoughts.

* * *

It happened rather unexpectedly. Matthias and Lukas were walking, their pace even and steady. The path they were following had been deeply marked by the many people and carts that followed it every year, and it was perhaps their only true savior on the lone stretch of plain that they were crossing. It was a large and empty place, countryside stretching for miles, and only interrupted by the unassuming farmhouses they passed. The last time they’d seen an actual village had been a week ago, and since then, Matthias could only assume they were getting close to a city known as Frindjor. But, he couldn’t be sure.

If things had gone according to plan, within the next few days, they would be resting within the city, close to the capital, and maybe even with horses to carry the brunt of the journey. Matthias usually didn’t walk for so long—his legs ached, even now, though he refused to complain. A warm bath, a real bed, and one relaxing, drunken night at a tavern would do him much good—regardless of the liberation he’d received from such drink.

But things had hardly gone according to plan at all. And truly, it started with the man in the middle of the road. At first, it was a subtle thing, just another traveler that Matthias had dismissed without a second thought. But the figure didn’t move. They didn’t walk along the roadside, they didn’t appear to have company. No, they stood completely unmoving in the center of the road, staring at Matthias.

It was then that the first trickle of unease spread throughout Matthias, an insistent murmuring in his gut that promised danger, and screamed warnings at him. And Matthias trusted his gut, more than anything else. It had never led him astray before—not after he had trained it, had learned of what truly to be wary of.

“Stop.”

Lukas obeyed without thinking—only after coming to a halt did he let himself falter and glance at Matthias. There was likely some indignance there, at being ordered, and likely at himself for even listening to Matthias. But he didn’t begin to move again, thankfully. And as Lukas looked expectantly at him, Matthias never tore his eyes away from the man.

“We’re going to approach him. Slowly. You stay behind me.” 

There were little noises of protest from Lukas, and a couple muttered words about how he could take care of himself, but Matthias paid it no heed. He’d already started approaching the man, gaze sharp, and hand on the shaft of his ax. Worst came to worse, and he would fight. It was one man, one against two. It should be an easy win—but nights without sleep, and tormented thoughts served to remind him that he wasn’t at his best.

The man, as Matthias got closer, seemed plenty something in his own right. He had pale hair that hung loosely around his face, long enough to touch the bottom of his jaw, and his eyes were sharp in their confidence. He had a smirk playing on his lips even as he watched the two arrive, a smirk that didn’t falter, and in fact, only seemed to grow.

“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance,” the man said, gesturing haplessly to them the moment they were within range, “Truly, I am. Though I’m sorry to say, that you’re going to have to stop there, and do as I say, or else…”

The man shrugged and gestured across his neck. Matthias looked him over—he was largely unassuming, considering his stature and apparent lack of height, though Matthias could see the lean muscle and battle-ready pose of someone who knew what they were doing. Probably dangerous. Matthias felt his grip on the ax tighten.

“What do you want?”

“Me?” the man let out a mock gasp, his hand flying up to cover his mouth, “Why, I’m not in want of anything. Aside from money. And, to be quite honest, we want him.”

The man pointed half-heartedly at Lukas, smiling endearingly as he did so. Even just the movement of it made Matthias's gut roil with unease, and he stepped protectively in front of Lukas. It made no sense—why did this random thief want Lukas? They’d just met, and they hadn’t had time nor access to any resources needed to make enemies. 

The image of Emil’s body flashed in Matthias's mind. Perhaps, he could think of one instance.

“We?” Matthias asked, choosing to address the more pressing matter first. The man’s smirk only grew, to the point where it was no longer coy, and rather a full-on manic grin.

“I wouldn’t have gone to do this alone, you know. It would have gotten so lonely. No, no, no, my friends were quite clear. Don’t be as sloppy as the others. Finish the job,” the man said, “I wouldn’t have risked so much, alone.”

There was a lot about this that Matthias had to unpack, but for now, standing protectively in front of a strangely quiet Lukas was about all he could do. Because if there was someone else—Matthias glanced behind him to be sure, though his brow furrowed when he didn’t see anywhere overtly obvious that anyone could have hidden—than that posed a larger problem than whatever the hell had happened on that mountain top that had killed Emil and nearly killed Lukas as well.

“So I’ll say this in simpler terms,” the man said, “Hand him over. And empty your pockets.”

“No.” Matthias grit his teeth, drawing his ax fully. This wasn’t some vague air of suspicion, this was a threat, and he had no qualms about cutting this man down for even suggesting the death he had in store for Lukas. “I think I’ll make a suggestion of my own. Back off, or die.”

“Oh, feisty,” the man laughed, “But misguided. You don’t want to get on the wrong side of me.”

“I could say the same about—”

“Enough.” Lukas stepped forward, head held high. “Am I correct to assume that you are among the group that had been hunting my brother and I?”

The words were enough to make Matthias stiffen, both for the weight and for just how dangerous Lukas's voice had gotten. It was sharp, and low with anger. The man seemed to recognize that, though he didn’t cower.

“Ah yes, I am delighted to say that I am. Did I not already introduce myself? It must have slipped my mind.” The man laughed. “Yes, I am part of it. Feliks is my name, don’t wear it out.”

“You killed my brother.”

“Technically, I did no such thing. That was the eastern—”

“Shut up!”

Feliks, miraculously, let his mouth fall shut. There must have been something about the sheer anger that emanated off of Lukas, something cold and unyielding and cruel.

“You want me?” Lukas asked, “Why? What have I ever done to any of you? If you’re going to keep hunting me, maybe I should at least give you all a fucking reason to!”

Lukas's eyes were glowing. Quite literally, they were shining, like some sort of creature from a fairy tale. And after a moment, Matthis felt the odd sense that perhaps that is exactly what Lukas was. He couldn’t move in that moment, not even as nature seemed to bend and twist to Lukas's will, and as Feliks adopted an expression more fitting for someone in his situation.

“This will be fun,” Feliks murmured, hands flourishing to produce a series of knives. “Tolys!”

Someone struck Matthias from behind. It was so sudden, that even Matthias didn’t foresee it. That or he was getting rusty. Both options were disconcerting, so Matthias chose not to dwell on it. He immediately jumped back and whirled around, ax at the ready.

His opponent was a man, dressed in what appeared to be an assassin's gear—everything but his face hidden, and even then, the lower half was carefully concealed as well. All Matthias could see of him was the eyes, narrowed and dangerous, and his hair—brown, and tied back to not get in the way. 

The weapon that had struck Matthias was a sword, the blunt of it most likely  
though it felt strange that an assassin of all people wouldn't go straight for the kill. The man—Matthias assumed his name to be Tolys, seemed to sense the question in his eyes.

“I fight fair,” Tolys said, voice strangely battle hardened and strong, “Unlike my companion.”

Matthias nodded, grinning ruthlessly.

“Glad to see that we’re on the same page, then.”

It was only moments later that Matthias swung, and he got to see Tolys well and truly react—dodging without a moment’s hesitation. He’d be a good opponent. That, and Matthias had no intention to kill. Never again, unless absolutely necessary. And knocking the pair of them out was easily a better option.

Lukas didn’t seem to agree though—Matthias could see him, out of the corner of his eye. Face torn with grief and anger, the very earth they were standing on moving to form weapons or cages or simply to go against Feliks in a passionate, deadly way. Feliks danced on it, graceful, eyes alight with something dangerous as well, throwing knives only to produce five more from the depths of his sleeves.

Those two had no qualms about killing each other. And that was what worried Matthias the most. That, and the confusion. Matthias couldn’t focus on it now, not when there was so much at stake, not when a single wrong move could cost him so much, but he knew now that he needed to talk with Lukas. Badly. There were things he hadn’t known, and now he knew more than ever, that these weren’t just results of a bad past. They were things that would put their life in danger, and he had a right to know exactly what Lukas was, and what had happened on the snow mountain.

It was too much to think about right now, though, when Tolys was aiming another blow for him. First, they had to make it out of this situation—preferably alive—and only then would Matthias allow himself room for such thoughts. So he fought with every bit of fight and passion that he could summon, trying not to let the whirlwind of confusion take him out, and the sheer shock that Lukas was bending the will of the earth like it was nothing, like it was all too human—

There was a slice of pain along his cheek, as he barely managed to stop the sword in its tracks. He could feel, rather than see, the thin line of crimson that must have appeared—stinging, slightly. A moment later, and he’d likely be dead.

Tolys had promised a fair fight, but not one where he would show remorse. Matthias was the only one here planning on keeping anyone alive, and he had no way to do that and win if he kept letting himself get distracted. The cut was a reminder of that, as was the feeling of restraining Tolys's sword with the curve of his ax.

Tolys was quick on his feet, and a steady warrior. With that, it was all too expected that he gracefully fell away from Matthias, before going on the offensive again. But Matthias would be lying if he said that Tolys was better than him. Years of violence he’d been forced to commit had to find some sort of pay off, Matthias assumed. It had to leave some sort of benefit to make up for how much it had fucked him up.

They exchanged blows, and Matthias felt his lip curl in the heat of the moment—he was getting close, he could feel it. Both of them were breathing heavily, and then—

“Matthias!”

Matthias blanched. That was Lukas's voice. Lukas. He just barely turned, ducking under Tolys's attack, to see Feliks holding a knife to his own throat. As if he predicted right how Matthias would move, as if he knew exactly how to get Lukas to come to his beck and call.

“Hey,” Feliks said slyly, grabbing the back of Matthias's neck with his hand—making sure he couldn’t run. “How are you doing?”

Matthias grinned, though it was ruthless, wild in the midst of a threat. “Peachy.”

Tolys had at least ceased his attack, for this, crouched on the ground alongside the two of them. His eyes flickered between them both, mouth tightening in what must be uncertainty. And, as Feliks twisted himself to smirk at Lukas over his shoulder, Matthias could see Tolys stiffen slightly. Uneasy. Waiting.

“So, how would you feel about that, my little faerie?” Feliks asked, “Ready to let us kill you? Or will you let your friend die?”

Ah. So that was the ploy—not that it wasn’t strikingly obvious, but it was nice to get a verbal confirmation. Of course, the knowledge that Feliks would hurt him without remorse, would murder him just to get to Lukas was unbearable. But he knew better than to think that it would end so simply.

“You better fucking drop him,” Lukas said, his own voice low, seething with rage. It was odd to hear from someone so stoic, and unyielding. “I’m not losing someone else to you!”

“Oh? This man you’ve known for what, one, two months, is he really that important to you? Do you just throw yourself at people left and right to get the love you don’t deserve, fae scum?” Feliks cocked his head, “Are you saying that this strange man is worth as much as your brother?”

“You twist my words,” Lukas stepped forward, “I said I won’t lose someone else. Don’t try to over analyze it, you bastard.”

For a moment, the world fell still. Then suddenly, it tilted, the earth moving under their feet. And with it, there was only a moment of wondering, before Tolys suddenly disappeared with a shout underneath the very earth. It was almost like he’d never been there at all, the way the earth seemed to smooth over, undisturbed, though Feliks recoiled.

“I’d recommend,” Lukas began, slowly, “You let my friend go. Or else, I’ll let him suffocate. Buried alive? Sounds like a fate worthy of anyone who’d associate with the likes of you.”

The knife shook—Matthias could feel it, in all it’s tremors. Feliks was gaping in horror at the spot where his partner had been just moments before, mouth struggling for words.

“Get him out,” Feliks eventually said, “You can’t—”

“I can. I did. Now focus on what you can do to save him.”

Lukas sounded cold. Harsh. Unyielding. Cruel. Matthias might have flinched at the pure ice in the tone, if not for the stillness in which he held himself. Feliks had no such reservations—his own wince was plain and obvious for anyone to see, and after a moment of indecision, he dropped the knife and stepped away from Matthias.

Matthias was quick to position himself again, ready for another threat, rubbing his neck with his free hand. Feliks stepped back, his head downcast, and shrouded by his hair.

“Give him back.”

“Why should I?”

Matthias froze—heart plummeting almost instantly at the cold ferocity that was Lukas's words. They were oddly apathetic, lacking in emotion, still and harsh as ice itself. It wasn’t something he’d ever expected to fall from Lukas's lips, the hatred and easy proclamation of violence.

“Because you said so!” Feliks yelled, and the desperation in his voice could be felt in the air, with the way his voice shook and hurt, “You said you would!”

“How easy it is to turn the tables on you,” Lukas mused, “And yet—why do you care? He was merely another member of your petty organization. Why should you care if he dies?”

Feliks made a sound in his throat, that sounded like it was caught between a sob and a scream. He looked hopeless. And Matthias, despite not feeling sympathy for someone like him, couldn’t help but agree.

Death was the ultimate sin.

Death was the very thing that Matthias had fought so hard to avoid. Death that seemed to follow wherever he went. And Lukas took the matter entirely, when it was hardly necessary, and out of sheer cruelty—

No.

Lukas couldn’t do this.

Lukas knew this was wrong, he had to.

“Give him back.”

Feliks looked at Matthias in surprise, and even Lukas seemed mildly confused at Matthias’s words. For a moment, he faltered.

“Please Lukas. You can’t kill.”

“Why? Why would you—”

“Because your brother was killed? I’m not going to go on some tangent of justice, say that you would be just as bad if you commit murder. God knows I have. But I think that it’ll be disrespecting him. To kill someone, after Emil lost his life in such a way?”

“That’s not—”

“Isn’t it?” Matthias took a step forward, determination clouding his eyes, “I’m not saying they deserve it. Hell if I know, I don’t really understand what’s happening. But. Don’t let anger cloud your judgement. Let’s go. Please. We can leave them behind and figure this out, somehow.”

Lukas’s face was strangely empty, as if even the mask of indifference was one he couldn’t summon, and all he could do was gouge out the emotions that resided within him, until he couldn’t feel. And yet—after a moment—his eyes glowed once again, casting violet light onto his cheekbones, and Tolys was there again. Above the dirt, unconscious from lack of air, but breathing—if thinly.

There was a cry from behind them. Feliks.

Matthias grabbed Lukas’s hand, and they ran, not looking back.

* * *

“You have some explaining to do.”

“...”

“Who were they? What’s going on? What are you?”

“I don’t want to tell you.”

“We got attacked. You almost killed a man. I think I have a right to know.”

Silence.

“Then don’t I have the same right? I’ve seen you when you sleep, and the way you cry out. You claimed that there are some things you can’t tell anyone, yet you turn around at the first opportunity, and tell me that I have to bare myself. But of course, it doesn’t matter, as long as I’m the one sharing.”

A falter.

“Wait, that’s not what I—”

“Shut up.”

“...”

“...”

“...okay…”

* * *

Quiet.

It always was quiet. Matthias was left to mull in his thoughts, letting them turn over and twist in his mind, until he no longer quite understood where the premise of thought came from. There were things he understood—and then there were the things that he, quite clearly, didn’t.

He understood that Lukas wasn’t human. That had been the first thing he’d allowed himself thought to, the first thing that had directed the pattern of his mind, and had taken him under its influence. Lukas wasn’t human. He was the very creature that he’d always been taught to fear, taught was not real, taught was a product of human fear and fantasy. And so Matthias found himself looking over Lukas more than usual, trying to find anything to prove that he wasn’t human. Pointed ears, or oddly shaped bone structures—none of it felt different from that of humanity.

Matthias also, later, when he was supposed to be sleeping, found himself missing Lukas in his bedroll. They’d separated again, maybe because it was too awkward. And Matthias thought he’d be fine with that when they’d settled down—because Lukas wasn’t what he thought he was.

Except he wasn’t fine with it. He didn’t consider Lukas any differently. It was odd, to say the least, because despite quite a large revelation, he still considered Lukas to be a friend, still felt for him the same strange emotions he had before, nothing had changed except uncertainty, and the lingering feeling of resignation and guilt after their last argument.

There was more he understood, from a purely logical level. Those whom they had fought were part of a group who had been trying to kill Lukas and Emil. Likely, they had been sent a letter by those who had overheard where they were going. Maybe an agent had been at Arthur’s. Maybe someone had followed them in the mountain pass. Either way, they had been ready and prepared to get them. The exact reasons that they wanted to kill Lukas were unknown—they weren’t hunters, clearly.

Hunters would finish the job, for one thing. While hate drove them, they did things efficiently. Merely the image of Emil’s body, insides strewn and torn from his body, and the fact that Lukas was even still breathing today, clearly disagreed with any idea that they might have been hunters.

A separate organization.

If so, what did they want with Lukas?

And why?

What wasn’t Lukas telling him?

...And did he have a right to even know?

* * *

It was night.

Two days from the capital. Two days until they reached their goal. And Matthias somehow felt that it was two days from the end of a chapter, the end of a story that he shared with Lukas. The stars stretched out above them, smears of white in the sky, the sky so open and large that it felt like it was all that really existed. And all Matthias knew, in this moment, under the stars, is that he couldn’t let Lukas go without clearing things up.

Lukas wasn’t sleeping, that made things easier. He was staring at the sky above him, so that the stars and the void glimmered within his eyes, pools of deep darkness that disguised all emotions. He was thinking. He tended to do that a lot, now a days. Matthias sometimes caught him staring, as if he missed the time before his secret was out, when interaction didn’t seem forced. Back when they talked easy, and the only emotions that hung between the two of them—the emotions of their relationship, not personal status—were those of pleasant nature.

Matthias missed it too. And he’d be damned if he let this end without at least attempting to fix it.

“I’m sorry.”

Lukas turned his head to look at him, quiet. He didn’t indicate he’d heard Matthias’s words in any verbal form, merely letting his gaze hang onto Matthias, and thoughts stay locked within his head.

“I’m sorry because you’re right. It was stupid and foolish of me not to tell you my past. Not when I was asking you to share so much,” Matthias began, “It’s quite simple. When I was thirteen, I was idealistic. I was naive.”

Lukas’s eyes widened a fraction.

“You don’t have to tell me, it’s fine.”

“I want to tell you. So please, just listen, okay?”

Lukas waited a beat, before nodding hesitantly. He was still lying down, just staring at Matthias. Even in the darkness, Matthias felt he could see everything about Lukas, with the moon shining down upon them. And he sighed, before regaling his tale.

* * *

_He was thirteen. He was an idealist. He was naive. He was—dare he say it?—a foolish child who wished for an adventure, for something more to life. The war had ravaged his hometown, had made it hard to live. Food was scarcer than ever, and most families plummeted into a level of disarray. But despite it all, Matthias and the other children of the town had made out the war to be the ultimate battle, a tug of war between good and evil, where the great country of Brendithin was the good, and their Southern neighbors were the bad, the demons. They were monsters. They were evil._

_That was how it was, right? Evil and Good. As children, those words held so much meaning. There was definition. There was no blurred lines and questions of morality. There was no gray. Simply black and white._

_Violence was a game to them. They’d play knights and hunters and bandits and they’d kill each other, slaughter each other with imaginary weapons, and when they became older—children still, yet they claimed they were so much wiser than they were—they cast aside those for merely talking, talk of what they’d do, and maybe a desperate pleading to learn to use weaponry. They’d turned violence into a game. A necessary tool, wrong in the hands of evil, but important, revered even, within the hands of good._

_Matthias was thirteen. He was an idealist. He was naive. He was—dare he say it?—a foolish child who wished for an adventure, for something more to life. And the warfront beckoned temptingly from its place on the town’s newsboard._

_His family hadn’t been supportive, not really. Matthias had to beg and plead and even then they’d hugged him tight and told him that they didn’t want to see their baby boy die. He’d promised he wouldn’t. He’d promised, with determination in his eyes, that he would not die._

_Sometimes he wished he had._

_The war wasn’t fun. It wasn’t an adventure, it wasn’t some beautiful struggle between good and evil, where good triumphed in the end. It was a certain type of hell. To be a soldier was not a story of glorious achievement. It was one of tragedy._

_Matthias still remembered that first kill. The man’s face, terrified. He remembered ramming his ax directly into his head, so that it stuck out between his eyes, and his face glazed over with pain and blood and death. He remembered his body shuddering, stomach heaving and protesting, and throwing up in a bush some time later, cold sweat running down his body._

_Matthias remembered becoming a master at killing._

_War did that to a person. Especially when you dedicated so many years of your life to it. He’d seen enemies die. But were they really his enemy? At some point, he didn’t know. They were people too. People who fought for their country, a dilemma which had become—as he’d grown older—anything but black and white. These were people who fought and killed because they were told to. They were monsters._

_Matthias was one of them, and for that reason, he wasn’t sure he could call something as simple as the opposing side his enemy._

_He’d seen friends die. That hurt. There was so many that he could name. Gilbert Beilshmidt. A man who laughed too much, even when he was in pain, and whose death Matthias had only been aware of months later. There was Jan’s. Matthias had seen him upfront, had seen him protect his sister with his body, had seen the way she had cried and thrown herself into battle as Matthias could only stare at him, could only see the way the life faded from his eyes._

_There was Berwald, who he’d met. Berwald who refused to die, regardless of what the war did to him. Kidnapped, tortured, Berwald was scarred both mentally and physically. Matthias hadn’t been able to do shit, but when he’d saved him, by god did that at least bring light to his life._

_Matthias had killed innocents, too. Had watched so many burn or be killed, simply because he was ordered too. He’d seen children orphaned, women crying over lost husbands, a young girl dead by the side of the road._

_Matthias and Berwald had left, together. But after so long within the military, they’d realized that they had a skill of killing, and little else._

_No wonder they were mercenaries now. Assassins under the very monarchy he’d sworn he’d never fight for again. His life of killing never seemed to end, and his nightmares would never cease reminding him of that fact._

* * *

Lukas looked at him, blinking. Processing the information. And despite that, Matthias pressed on.

“I resorted to drink, eventually, because it at least numbed the pain. And that’s my story,” Matthias sighed, “It’s pathetic, really.”

“It’s not.”

“It really is.”

“Don’t say that. You fought in war. I can’t imagine what you saw there,” Lukas said. “And besides, you were right. About what you said earlier—that I should have told you. Because even not knowing about what happened with you, I caused us to get attacked. And you should at least have known why. But instead, I refused to tell you, and that drove you to share this. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I still wanted to tell you, regardless. Clear the air, I guess. Get things off my chest.”

Lukas nodded, in thought.

“Hmm. Well. I suppose it’s my turn.” He was silent for a long moment. A very long moment. For a while, Matthias thought that perhaps he’d forgotten how to speak, had become so entrenched in his own memories that he forgot he was not in them, not seeing them come to life again.

But then…

“It’s all my fault.”

* * *

_Lukas didn’t remember their death that well. It wasn’t that he was too young, either, so he assumed it must have been erasure of mind. He didn’t want to remember. He’d been ten years old, and Hunters had broken into their house. One of their neighbors had seen his mother channeling the water around her, within the forest that seemed to surround the entire city. So, Lukas had taken his three year old brother, and hid._

_Emil didn’t remember any of it. But he tried. Living on their own was hard, to begin with, much more so because they never stayed in one place for too long. Lukas always said it was because if they did, someone would get too close. Emil never had any friends. No one he was close to. His life was entirely one of survival, and for that, Lukas resented himself. He had brought that life upon his brother. He was the one who insisted that they have no close relationships, that they should steal and live wherever was least suspicious, just so that they would survive._

_But Emil, while he didn’t quite agree, still tried his best. Emil grew up with a kindness he hit behind an aloof attitude, a compassion that he hid behind snark, and a firm realization that they couldn’t keep living like this. There had been many an argument about the exact conditions in which they chose to live._

_Lukas always refused to back down._

_Somehow, he’d found Ivan._

_It was a stroke of luck—though bad, or good, it couldn’t be discerned at the time. Now, Lukas would call it bad. More than bad—it was the type of luck that broke families, took lives. But at the time, he understood it less clearly. Nothing had transpired yet. And the moment that he’d dipped his hand into Ivan Braginsky’s pocket, he’d sealed his fate._

_An organization. A criminal organization—a guild of thieves and murderers and rapists. Terrible people. But there was pay, and relative safety if you obeyed the chain of command and weren’t afraid of getting your hands dirty._

_Lukas had minded that. Years of working, even if he refused to use his magic, even if the risk of being a fae could hurt him, didn’t matter in the face of survival. And that’s what it was—it got them money, and opportunities. It allowed them to travel, to avoid discovery, and yet still keep a steady flow of cash._

_Emil eventually, was the one who told Lukas they should run._

_He didn’t agree with it. Of course he didn’t. He hated everyone there and the things they did. He’d always been better than Lukas was, and sometimes, Lukas wondered if they were even related, if not for the familiar snark they both seemed to share._

_So. They ran._

_It took convincing. A lot of convincing, persuasion, a desperate plea not to live like this anymore. Emil had been desperate. He’d broken down, and that was when Lukas cut things off. They ran, and were making for no foreseeable destination, just trying to find safety._

_The Braginsky Family didn’t take too kindly to that._

_Lukas wished he had never met Ivan. Maybe this wouldn’t have happened. If he’d turned him down, if he’d done_ anything _maybe he could have saved Emil._

_Maybe if he’d taught Emil magic in the first place, he could have defended himself. He wouldn’t have been so helpless._

_They caught up in the mountains. Held Lukas back, and destroyed Emil, had ripped him apart alive in front of Lukas, ignoring the screams and the pleas and the begging. They had killed him in the most brutal manner they knew how, and Lukas had lashed out in the only way he knew how. Magic._

_The forest had almost bent to his will, and anger consumed him. They must have been scared, too scared to finish the job under all of nature trying to kill them. He got stabbed. They ran. The trees around them bent and twisted, until they were alone in a clearing, and Lukas curled around Emil, brushing his hair from his face, and begging for him to wake up._

_He passed out later._

* * *

“They will still come after me. They’re not done. Maybe if I was just some run away, they’d be fine with it. They killed Emil after all, they’d take that for granted. But clearly my status as a faerie has made me interesting. After all, you said it yourself. Most don’t believe. To find a real one, it’s—”

“I’ll keep you safe,” Matthias set his mouth, nodding to himself in confirmation. There was no way he’d let them lay a hand on Lukas. Especially not after what they’d done to Emil—he’d never met the boy, but he could hear the screams. “Berwald had some business in the capital, remember? Maybe...we’d both been seeking a new life somewhere. Maybe he found a way we can all leave.”

Lukas still had that look on his face—that one of disheartening and shame. He blamed himself, so obviously, for Emil. He didn’t need a solution right now—that, Matthias knew he could provide in full later. Well. Not in full, perhaps, but he could find a solution.

No, what Lukas needed was something else.

“I’d just like to say,” Matthias said, “That I don’t think what happened to him was your fault. I know you might not take what I say to heart, but I think it’s important to know that I, at least, don’t think you have any blame.”

Lukas nodded dully, eyes shut away from the stars that shone above them. Perhaps it helped, maybe it didn’t. But Matthias wasn’t going to push the issue—not yet. Small reassurances over time, logic when he was in a better emotional state. That would work better than just telling him with desperate aggression that would only make him retreat into himself further.

Still, Matthias added something for good measure.

“I’m serious, believe me.” He fiddled with the hem of his sleeve. “And I know I didn’t know Emil, but—I’m sure he’d say that too.”

“Probably. Though in some roundabout way that half implied I was at fault.”

Matthias shrugged. 

“So? He’d still say it. Also, I’ve been thinking...there are ways of crafting ashes into metals and shit. If you’d be okay with it, I’d say that maybe...we could make something special commissioned, with Emil’s ashes? Only if you want to, though! I mean, I’ve been saving money that we’ve gotten from all the towns with your violin, but—”

Lukas raised a finger to Matthias’s lips, expression soft. When, exactly, he had sat up was beyond Matthias, but the gesture—the feeling of Lukas touching him—was enough to shut him up.

“I’d like that.”

Lukas didn’t move his finger, at first. They remained there, still, caught perhaps in the oddness of their own emotions, before Lukas quirked an eyebrow.

“I’m curious, how do you feel about faeries now? You said you didn’t believe, correct?”

Matthias nodded, watching Lukas draw his finger back. They sat facing each other, in an open field full of stars. This moment, with the air cleared between them, with the emotions and the stories and the broken, jagged edges of themselves in the open, Matthias felt just a little bit lighter.

“I think, that we make them out to be something worse than what they are,” Matthias said, “I think faeries are beautiful creatures, who are just like us, in many ways. That we hate them because we fear what we can do.”

“And on the belief?”

“It’d be hard to deny that I believe now, right?”

Lukas hummed.

“And of the other things?”

“What, the things I said I don’t believe in? Things like, fate, peace, love?”

“Yes. Of those things?”

Matthias thought. Something about seeing Lukas look at him now, eyes fixed on his own, and the moon casting it’s light on his hair, it felt odd. Did he believe in those things? Had he seen them, felt them himself? Even he wasn’t quite sure. But.

“I believe that they’re possible.” 

Lukas breathed. It was a slight motion, but still he leaned forward.

“You believe fate is possible?”

“Yes.”

“You believe that peace is attainable?”

“Yes.”

A pause.

“You believe in love?”

His heart skipped a beat. Lukas was watching him, head tilted, mouth quirked.

“Yes.”

What was love?

Matthias wasn’t entirely sure. He’d had romances. Never love. There was never enough time for love. But, he’d seen it before. Maybe he’d been blind, maybe he was pretending he hadn’t seen it. But. He had seen it. It was in the way Yao and Arthur looked at each other, when they thought the other wasn’t looking. It was in the way Vash watched over his sister. It was in the way that even someone like Feliks could scream so desperately for Tolys.

It was in the way Matthias’s heart beat right now, in the way he looked at Lukas, at the way he felt whenever they were together.

Matthias was in love.

He didn’t know why this revelation came now, but his heart stopped for a moment. And yet, it didn’t feel wrong. It didn’t feel...unexpected, just sudden. He’d been falling, and only now did he realize how deep it went.

“I believe in love.” He murmured again, quietly. Lukas nodded, satisfied.

“There are no such things as happy endings,” Lukas said. Maybe it was a warning. Maybe Lukas was trying to convince himself of something. Maybe.

Matthias shrugged, before laughing. It was a light sound, without the weight of anything tearing him down.

“There might be, if we can just hope for one.”

“There it is again. You hope.”

“I always hope. Even when I’m at my worst, it’s the one thing I could cling to.”

“It’s naive.”

“It’s not. Not really. I won’t deny that I have problems. Of course I won’t. Even if I somehow got a beautiful, picture perfect happy ending, those problems wouldn’t leave. But. Can’t we hope for something nice, after all of our suffering?”

Lukas, after a moment, looked away.

“I suppose your foolish optimism is wearing off on me.”

“Good thing?”

Lukas smiled.

“Yes. Good thing.”

* * *

The capital was a large place. It stretched beyond the eye could see, all painted walls and buildings, and the loud bustle of merchants and mules. Matthias half couldn’t believe they’d made it. It had taken them so long. He was still tired from nightmares, but sleeping with another warm body next to his own, holdings hands, had only provided an extra peace he hadn’t hoped to obtain.

The tavern they’d discovered doubled as an inn, and quite a large one at that. There were many inside, rowdy guests who loudly demanded more drinks and food, and groped at passing wait staff. Yet supposedly, this was the place Berwald had wanted to meet. Matthias could only look longingly at the drink, feeling a deep seated urge he’d finally thought he’d been rid of appear again—though Lukas smacked the back of his head even at the look.

“No.”

He’d shot an amused, sorry look at Lukas, before looking around. And it wasn’t too hard to find the man—Berwald was of an impressive height, with a face that made most around him surrender immediately. Matthias grabbed Lukas’s hand, before pulling him through the crowd, to where Berwald sat.

His best friend of years didn’t even react as the two made themselves comfortable across from them. He didn’t speak either—a man of few words. So Matthias made the first move.

“Hey, Ber, sorry for being so late!”

“No worries.”

“Still, a lot happened. Speaking of, I’d like you to meet Lukas Bondevik. He’s been my travel partner for a while now,” Matthias grinned at Berwald, who tilted his head slightly to acknowledge Lukas’s presence. It was fortunate that Lukas didn’t seem that intimidated—only inclining his head in response as well.

“So, anything happen while I was busy? You mentioned something in your letter…”

Berwald nodded, before leaning forward slightly. If Matthias were less brave a man, and had not known him so well, he’d have flinched, but he was neither of those things. So he instead remained curious and still—or as still as he could physically get—and watched him.

“Mm. Yes. Plans for leaving country, and leaving mercenaries.”

Matthias heart stuttered to a stop, for what felt like the hundredth time in the past few days. Perhaps he’d die of it. Regardless, he felt his mouth drop open, and shock plaster itself over his face.

Because...why now? Leaving a group that knew royal secrets was borderline impossible, and yet how had Berwald managed to—

“Wait, seriously? We can leave? How?” Matthias asked, decided to act on the only coherent thoughts in his head. Even Lukas seemed a little surprised, eyes widened just slightly.

“He’ll explain.” Berwald shrugged.

“He?”

Someone chimed in from behind them.

“Mister Berwald means me!”

It was a light voice, though the formality felt strange applied to Berwald’s name. Berwald seemed to agree, giving the owner of the voice a look that suggested he’d tried to make them drop it, or at least wanted them to, without any real success. And when Matthias turned to look around—

There was a man, short, with a round face and a carefree smile attached to his face. He gave a small salute, before sitting down at the table with them, drumming his fingers on the surface.

“So I know it will be hard, but Berwald and I have come up with a plan. You see, I’m in the same situation. But I happen to have some contacts who will help us forge a new life. New identities. In an entirely different country, too, so they’ll have a really hard time finding us.” He paused. “Oh right! I’m Tino Väinämöinen.”

“Matthias Køhler,” Matthias said dubiously, sticking his hand out. Lukas repeated the process, thinking.

“If you tell me more of the details, it might work for getting off the radar of the Braginsky Family as well. So, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to join you.”

Tino waved his concerns off, all the while smiling happily. “No worries! Berwald told me all about Køhler, and any friend of his is someone I trust. Though...Braginsky Family?”

“Shady stuff,” Berwald grunted, though not accusingly. Lukas didn’t appear to be too offended, anyway, just shrugging.

“It was a mistake. One that I have to get away from. So, tell us more about this plan.”

Tino nodded, excitedly.

“I’m glad you asked!”

* * *

“Lukas!” Matthias positively thrummed with energy as he darted around the crowd, catching Lukas in the middle of the market. Granted, he was busy looking at breads and cheeses to take with them on their journey—and if Matthias didn’t hate the sound of that. Travel at this point was about as appealing as rotting body. But it was necessary—unfortunately.

That didn’t stop even the appearance of Lukas looking over at him, eyebrow raised at his loud voice, looking absolutely angelic. Matthias had to smother a grin as he ran over to him, bouncing on his feet.

“I’m assuming you have something to show me, idiot.”

“You bet,” Matthias grinned, “You know what I said about the ashes, on our way here?”

Lukas nodded, looking mildly surprised. And Matthias, well—he reached into his pocket, briefly wondering on his sudden anxiety, before he pulled the clip out and fastened it into Lukas’s hair. It was small, silver, and yet it only enhanced Lukas’s beauty, he felt.

“Back when we were brainstorming ideas, you seemed to really like this one. So, I made it. Now Emil will always be with you, even if we lose the urn—which we won't, of course, why’d I say that, just shut me up—”

Lukas tenderly reached up, tracing the silver cross with his fingers, smiling delicately. And after a moment, he grabbed onto Matthias’s collar and kissed him.

Strange, the way your body can betray you. The way that your heart sings your love to the world, and your skin flushes under such contact. Strange the way your lips react before your mind even gets the chance, and that your hands instantly reach for his waist, pulling him in closer.

Matthias had never known something more right than kissing Lukas. Nothing more right than spending time with this man, of holding him tight and never letting go. There was nothing more right than separating with kiss swollen lips, only to duck in again after barely a breath for air.

There was nothing more right than letting himself believe in love, for it had taken his soul and body.

**Author's Note:**

> Oof. I'm going to be honest, I usually plan to write something like this. It was going to be a short oneshot, maybe 2k at most, and I wasn't going to even have the Dennor happen in the end--because Lukas was grieving? And there wasn't going to be the space to give him time and allow Matthias and him to get together.
> 
> Then I actually started writing and shit happened. So uh...this is super disorganized, it's kind of a mess, but I thought it was enjoyable...maybe?...so I posted it. A lot of the stuff that happened I didn't intend to, so I feel like I didn't treat the disorders and shit properly. This hurts me, because my whole family has a history of mental disorders, and so I never want to represent them that badly. But granted, this is a fantasy universe, so it would be treated differently, and the characters would regard it differently. (Plus, I forgot to look up the symptoms of alcohol withdrawal until Matthias was like five days in, so oops?)
> 
> As you can tell, I got really lazy when writing this, and deserve nothing but hatred. But if you did read, and you did enjoy, thank you!!!
> 
> (I didn't edit this, so I'm sorry for any grammar mistakes or inaccuracies or for the general lack of a cohesive plot!!!)


End file.
